o 


OF 

MR.&MRS.VV.li.SlEVERS 


A  Son  of  Courage 


/  I 


"  Oh.  'aren't  they  lovely!  "  cried  Erie. 


A  Son  of  Courage 


By 

Archie  P.  McKishnie 


Author  of  Love  of  the  Wild, 
Willow,  the  Wisp,  etc. 


The    Reilly    &   Lee    Co 
Chicago 


Copyright,  192» 

By 
The  Reilly  &  Lee  Co. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Made  in  V.  8.  A. 


A  Son  of  Courage 


To  my  sister, 

'Jean  Blewitt,  who  knew  and 

lived  its  characters  this  book 

is  lovingly  dedicated. 

The  Author. 


2137071  ' 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1  Billy  Wilson '§  Strategy 9 

2  A  Shower  of  Fish 29 

3  Appraising  the  New  Teacher. 39 

4  The  Message  Croaker  Brought 50 

5  A  Wilderness  Merchant 58 

6  The  Euse  That  Failed ..., 67 

7  The  Rabbit  Foot  Charm 77 

8  Luck  Bides  the  Storm 85 

9  Moving  the  Menagerie 95 

10  In  Lost  Man's  Swamp 104 

11  Educating  the  New  Boy 115 

12  Old  Harry  Makes  a  Find 126 

13  Erie  of  the  Light-House 135 

14  Old  Harry  Turns  a  Trick 145 

15  Billy's  Problems  Multiply 159 

16  Billy  Meets  a  Divinity 168 

17  The  Dread  Day  Dawns 178 

18  The  Mettle  of  the  Breed 188 

19  Croaker  Brings  a  Gift 196 

20  Billy  Meets  a  Lovely  Ghost 205 

21  A  Day  with  the  Ducks '. 215 

22  Teacher  Johnston  Resigns 229 

23  Mr.  Hinter  Proves  a  Puzzle 241 

24  Billy  to  the  Rescue 250 

25  Mr.  Hinter  Makes  a  Confession 261 

26  A  Golden  Wedding  Gift 273 


A  SON   OF  COURAGE 

CHAPTER  I 


.  Wils»n  lit  the  eoal-oil  lamp  aad  placed  it  in  the 
center  ef  the  Mtohen  table;  then  she  turned  toward  the 
door,  her  head  half  bent  in  a  listening  attitude. 

A  brown  water-spaniel  waddled  from  the  woodshed  into 
the  room,  four  bright-eyed  puppies  at  her  heels,  and  stood 
half  in  the  glow,  half  in  the  shadow,  short  tail  ingratiat- 
ingly awag. 

"  Seoot  you!  "  commanded  the  woman,  and  with  a  wild 
scurry  mother  dog  and  puppies  turned  and  fled  to  the 
friendly  darkness  of  their  retreat. 

Mrs,  Wilson  stood  with  frowning  gaze  fastened  on  the 
door.  She  was  a  tall,  angular  woman  of  some  forty  years, 
heavy  of  features,  as  she  was  when  occasion  demanded  it, 
heavy  of  hand.  Tiny  fret-lines  marred  a  face  which  under 
less  trying  conditions  of  life  might  have  been  winsome, 
but  tonight  the  lips  of  the  generous  mouth  were  tightly 
compressed  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  bosom  beneath 
the  low  cut  flannel  gown  hinted  of  a  volcano  that  would 
ere  long  erupt  to  the  confusion  of  somebody. 

As  a  quick  step  sounded  outside,  she  lowered  herself 
slowly  to  a  high-backed  chair  and  waited,  hands  locked 
closely  upon  her  lap. 

The  door  opened  and  her  husband  entered.  He  cast  a 
quick,  apprehensive  glanee  at  his  wife,  and  the  low  whistle 
died  on  his  lips  as  he  passed  over  to  the  long  roller  towel 
hanging  above  the  wash-bench  and  proceeded  to  dry  his 
hands. 

9 


10  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

He  was  a  medium  sized  man,  with  brown  wavy  hair  and 
a  beard  which  failed  to  conceal  the  glad  boyishness  of  a 
face  that  would  never  quite  be  old.  The  eyes  he  turned 
upon  the  woman  when  she  sharply  spoke  his  name  were 
blue  and  tranquil. 

"  Yes,  Mary?  "  he  responded  gently. 

"  I  want 'a  tell  you  that  I'm  tired  of  bein'  the  slave 
of  you  an'  your  son,"  she  burst  out.  "  One  of  these  days 
I'll  be  packin'  up  and  goin'  to  my  home  folks  in  Nova 
Scotia." 

"Wilson  averted  his  face  and  proceeded  to  straighten  the 
towel  on  the  roller.  His  action  seemed  to  infuriate  the 
woman. 

Her  lips  tightened.  Her  hands  unclenched  and  gripped 
the  table  as  she  slowly  arose. 

"  You —  "  she  commenced,  her  voice  tense  with  pas- 
sion, "  you —  "  she  checked  herself.  Unconsciously  one  of 
the  groping  hands  had  come  in  contact  with  the  soft  leather 
cover  of  a  book  which  lay  on  the  table. 

It  was  the  family  Bible.  She  had  placed  it  there  after 
reading  her  son  Anson  his  evening  chapter.  Slowly  she 
mastered  herself  and  sank  back  into  her  chair. 

Wilson  came  over  and  laid  a  work-hardened  hand  gently 
on  her  heaving  shoulder. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  what  is  it?    What  have  I  done?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  miserably,  "  what  haven't  you  done, 
Tom  Wilson?  Didn't  you  bring  me  here  to  this  lonesome 
spot  when  I  was  happy  with  my  son,  happy  an'  con- 
tented? " 

"  But  I  told  you  you'd  like  find  it  some  lonesome,  Mary, 
you  remember?  " 

"  Yes,  but  did  you  so  much  as  hint  at  what  awful  things 
I'd  have  to  live  through  here?  Not  you!  Did  you  tell 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  11 

me  that  an  old  miser  'ud  die  and  his  ghost  ha'nt  this 
neighborhood?  Did  you  tell  me  that  blindness  'ud  strike 
one  of  the  best  and  most  useful  young  men  low  ?  Did  you 
tell  me,"  she  ran  wildly  on,  "  that  the  sweetest  girl  in  the 
world  'ud  be  dyin'  of  a  heartbreak?  Did  you  tell  me 
anythin',  Tom  Wilson,  that  a  woman  who  was  leavin'  her 
own  home  folks,  to  work  for  you  and  your  son,  should  a' 
been  told?  " 

Wilson  sighed.  ' '  How  was  I  to  know  these  things  would 
happen,  Mary?  It's  been  hard  haulin',  I  know,  but  some- 
day it  won't  be  so  hard.  Maybe  now,  you'd  find  it  easier 
if  you  didn't  shoulder  everybody  else's  trouble,  like  you 
do—" 

' '  Shut  right  up !  "  she  flared,  "  I  'm  a  Christian  woman, 
Tom  Wilson.  Do  you  think  I  could  face  God  on  my  knees 
if  I  failed  in  my  duty  to  the  sick  as  calls  fer  me?  Why, 
I  couldn't  sleep  if  I  didn't  do  what  little  I'm  able  to  do 
fer  them  in  trial;  I'd  hear  weak  voices  acallin'  me,  I'd 
see  pain-wild  eyes  watchin'  fer  me  to  come  an'  help  their 
first-born  into  the  world." 

'"  But,  Mary,  there's  a  doctor  at  Bridgetown  now 
and—" 

"  Doctors!  "  she  cried  scornfully.  "  Little  enough  they 
know  the  needs  of  a  woman  at  such  a  time.  A  doctor  may 
be  all  right  in  his  place,  but  his  place  ain't  here  among 
us  woods  folk.  I  tell  you  now  I  know  my  duty  an'  I'll 
do  it  because  they  need  me." 

"  We  all  need  you,  Mary,"  spoke  her  husband  quickly. 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  when  I  persuaded  you  to  come? 
I  need  you;  Billy  needs  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  tears  filming  the  fire  of  anger  in 
her  eyes. 

"  No,"  she  said  in  low  tense  tones,  "  your  son  don't 


12  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

need  me.  I'm  nuthin'  to  him.  Sometimes  I  think  —  I 
think  he  cares  —  'cause  I  'm  longin '  f er  it,  I  guess.  Bnt 
somehow  he  seems  to  be  lookin'  beyond  me  to  someone 
else." 

Wilson  sighed  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  I  guess  maybe  it's  your  fancy  playin'  pranks  on  you, 
Mary,"  he  suggested  hesitatingly.  "  Two  years  of  livin' 
in  this  lonesome  spot  has  kinder  got  on  your  nerves." 

"  Nerves!  "  she  cried  indignantly,  sitting  bolt  upright. 
"  Don't  you  'er  anybody  else  dare  accuse  me  of  havin' 
nerves,  Tom  Wilson.  If  I  wasn't  the  most  sensible-minded 
person  alive  I'd  be  throwin'  fits  er  goin'  off  into  gallopin' 
hysterics  every  hour,  with  the  things  that  Willium  does 
to  scare  the  life  out  of  a  body. ' ' 

"  What's  Billy  been  doin'  now?  "  asked  Wilson 
anxiously. 

She  shivered.  "  Nothin'  out 'a  the  ordinary.  What's 
that  limb  allars  doin'  to  scare  the  daylights  clean  outa  me 
an'  the  neighbors?  If  you'd  spend  a  little  more  of  your 
spare  time  in  the  house  with  your  wife  an'  less  in  the 
barn  with  your  precious  stock  you  wouldn't  need  to  be 
askin'  what  he's  been  adorn '.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  he 
did  only  this  evenin'  afore  you  come  home  from  changin' 
words  with  Cobin  Keeler. 

' '  Missus  Scraff  —  you  know  what  a  fidgety  fly-off- 
the-handle  she  is,  an'  how  she  suffers  from  the  asthma — 
well,  she'd  come  over  an*  was  stayin'  to  supper.  I  sent 
that  Willium  out  on  the  back  ridge  to  gather  some  wild 
thimble-berries  fer  dessert.  He  comes  in  just  as  I  had 
the  table  all  set,  that  wicked  old  coon  he 's  made  a  pet  of  at 
his  heels  an '  that  devil-eyed  crow,  Croaker,  on  his  shoulder. 
Afore  I  could  get  hold  of  the  broom,  he  put  the  covered 
pail  on  the  table  an'  went  out  ag'in.  The  coon  follered 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  13 

him,  but  that  crow  jumped  right  onto  the  table  an'  grabbed 
a  piece  of  cake.  I  made  a  dash  at  him  an'  he  flopped 
to  Missus  Seraff's  shoulder.  She  was  chewin'  a  piece  of 
slippery-ellum  bark  fer  her  asthma,  an'  when  his  claws 
gripped  her  shoulder  she  shrieked  an'  like  to  'a'  choked 
to  death  on  it. 

"  It  took  me  all  of  half  an  hour  to  get  her  quieted,  an' 
then  I  made  to  show  her  what  nice  berries  we  got  from 
our  back  ridge.  '  Jest  hold  your  apron,  Mrs.  Scraff,  an* 
I'll  give  you  a  glimpse  of  what  we're  goin'  to  top  our 
supper  off  with,'  I  says,  strivin'  to  get  the  poor  soul's 
mind  off  herself. 

"  She  held  out  her  apron,  an'  I  lefted  the  lid  off  the 
pail  and  pours  what's  in  it  into  her  lap. 

"  An'  what  d'ye  'epose  was  in  that  pail,  Tom  Wilson? 
Four  garter  snakes  and  a  lizard;  that's  what  your 
precious  son  had  gone  out  and  gathered  fer  our  dessert.  I 
spilled  the  whole  oaboodle  of  'em  into  her  apron  afore  I 
noticed,  an'  she  give  one  screech  an'  fainted  dead  away. 
While  I  was  busy  bringin*  her  around,  that  Willium 
sneaked  in  an'  gathered  them  squirmin'  reptiles  off  the 
floor.  I  ceuldn '  do  more  jest  then  than  look  him  a  promise 
to  settle  with  him  later,  'cause  I  had  my  hands  full  as  it 
was.  I  found  a  pail  of  berries  on  the  table  when  I  got 
a  chanoe  to  look  about  me,  an*  I  ain't  sayin'  but  that  boy 
got  them  pails  mixed,  but  that  don't  excuse  him  none." 

Wilson,  striving  to  keep  hie  face  grave,  nodded.  "  That's 
how  it's  been,  I  guess,  Mary.  He  kin  no  more  help  pickin' 
up  every  snake  and  animal  he  comes  across  then  he  kin 
help  breathin '.  But  he  don 't  mean  any  harm,  Billy  don 't. ' ' 

"  That's  neither  here  ner  there/'  she  snapped.  "  He 
doesn't  seem  to  care  what  harm  he  does.  An'  the  hard 
part  of  it  is,"  she  burst  out,  "  I  can't  take  no  pleasure  in 


14  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

whalin'  him  same  as  I  might  if  I  was  his  real  mother;  1 
jest  can't,  that's  all.  He  has  a  way  of  lookin'  at  me  out 'a 
them  big,  grey  eyes  of  his'n  — 

The  voice  choked  up  and  a  tear  splashed  down  on  the 
hand  clenched  on  her  lap. 

Comfortingly  her  husband's  hand  covered  it  from  sight, 
as  though  he  sought  to  achieve  by  this  small  token  of 
understanding  that  which  he  could  not  hope  to  achieve 
by  mere  words. 

She  caught  her  breath  quickly  and  a  flush  stole  up 
beneath  the  sun  and  wind  stain  on  her  cheeks.  There  was 
that  in  the. pressure  of  the  hand  on  hers,  strong  yet  tender, 
which  swept  the  feeling  of  loneliness  from  her  heart. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  man,  "  I  guess  neither  of  us  under- 
stand Billy  and  maybe  we  never  will,  quite.  I've  often 
tried  to  tell  you  how  much  your  willin'ness  to  face  this 
life  here  meant  to  him  and  me  but  I'm  no  good  at  that 
sort 'a  thing.  I  just  hoped  you'd  understan',  that's  all." 

"*  Well,  I'm  goin'  to  do  my  duty  by  you  both,  allars," 
Mrs.  Wilson  spoke  in  matter-of-fact  tones,  as  she  reached 
for  her  sewing-basket.  "When  I  feel  you  need  checkin* 
up,  Tom  Wilson,  checked  you're  goin'  to  be,  an'  when 
Willium  needs  a  hidin'  he's  goin'  to  get  a  hidin'.  An," 
she  added,  as  her  husband  got  up  from  his  chair,  saying 
something  about  having  to  turn  the  horses  out  to  pasture, 
' '  you  needn  't  try  to  side-track  me  from  my  duty  neither. ' ' 
"  All  right,  Mary,"  he  agreed,  his  hand  on  the  door- 
latch. 

"  An'  if  you're  agoin'  out  to  the  barn  do  try'nd  not 
carry  any  more  of  the  barn-yard  in  on  your  big  feet  than 
you  kin  help.  I  jest  finished  moppin'  the  floors." 

Wilson  stepped  out  into  the  spicy  summer  darkness  and 
went  slowly  down  the  path  to  the  barn.  As  far  as  eye 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  15 

could  reach,  through  the  partially  cleared  forest,  tiny 
clearing  fires  glowed  up  through  the  darkness,  seeming  to 
vie  with  big  low  hanging  stars.  The  pungent  smoke  of 
burning  log  and  sward  mingled  pleasantly  with  the  scent 
of  fern  and  wild  blossoms. 

Wilson  lit  his  pipe  and  with  arms  folded  on  the  top 
rail  of  the  barnyard  fence  gazed  down  across  the  partially- 
cleared,  fire-dotted  sweep  to  where,  a  mile  distant,  a  long, 
densely  timbered  point  of  land  stood  darkly  silhouetted 
against  the  sheen  of  a  rising  moon. 

From  the  bay-waters  came  the  lonely  cry  of  a  loon,  from 
the  marshes  the  booming  of  night-basking  bullfrogs.  The 
hoot  of  the  owl  sounded  faintly  from  the  forest  beyond; 
the  yap  of  a  foraging  fox  drifted  through  the  night's  still- 
ness from  the  uplands. 

A  long  time  Wilson  stood  pondering.  When  at  length 
he  bestirred  himself  a  full  moon  swam  above  a  trans- 
figured world.  A  silvery  sheen  swept  softly  the  open 
spaces ;  through  the  trees  the  white  bay-waters  shimmered ; 
the  clearing  fires  had  receded  to  mere  sparks  with  silvery 
smoke  trails  stretching  straight  up  towards  a  starred 
infinity. 

He  sighed  and  turned  to  glance  back  at  the  cottage 
resting  in  the  hardwood  grove.  It  looked  very  homey,  very 
restful  to  him,  beneath  its  vines  of  clustering  wild-grape 
and  honeysuckle.  It  was  home  —  home  it  must  be  always. 
And  Mary  loved  it  just  as  he  loved  it;  this  he  knew.  She 
was  a  fine  woman,  a  great  helpmate,  a  wonderful  wife 
and  mother.  ,She  was  fair  minded  too.  She  loved  Billy 
quite  as  much  as  she  loved  her  own  son,  Anson.  Billy  must 
be  more  careful,  more  thoughtful  of  her  comfort.  He  would 
have  a  heart  to  heart  talk  with  his  son,  he  told  himself  as 
he  went  on  to  the  barn. 


16  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

He  completed  his  chores  and  went  thoughtfully  back 
up  the  flower-edged  path  to  the  house.  "  There's  one  good 
thing  about  Mary's  crossness,"  he  reflected,  "  it  don't  last 
long.  Shell  be  her  old  cheerful  self  ag'in  by  now." 

But  Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  her  old  cheerful  self ;  far  from 
it.  "Wilson  realized  this  fact  as  soon  as  he  opened  the 
door.  She  raised  stern  eyes  to  her  husband  as  he  entered. 

"  You  see  them?  "  she  asked  with  sinister  calmness, 
pointing  to  a  patched  and  clay-stained  pair  of  trousers 
on  the  floor  beside  her  chair.  "  Them's  Willium's.  He's 
jest  gone  to  bed  an'  I  ordered  him  to  throw  'em  down  to 
be  patched." 

Wilson  nodded,  "  Yes,  Mary?  " 

"  And  do  you  see  this  here  object  that  I'm  holdin'  up 
afore  your  dotin'  father's  eyee?  " 

He  came  forward  and  took  the  object  from  her  hand. 

"  It  also  belongs  to  your  dear,  gentle  son,"  she  grated, 
"  leastwise  I  found  it  in  one  of  his  pants  pockets." 

Wilson  whistled  softly.  "  You  don't  say !  "  he  laanaged 
to  articulate.  "  Why,  Mary,  it's  a  pipe!  " 

"  Is  it?  " 

"  Yes,  a  corn-cob  pipe,"  he  repeated  weakly. 

"  Is  it  roily?  "  she  returned  with  sarcasm.  "  I  wasn't 
sure.  I  thort  maybe  it  was  a  fish-line,  or  a  jack-knife. 
Now  what  do  you  think  of  your  precious  soa?  "  she 
demanded. 

Wilson  shook  his  head.  "  It's  a  new  pipe,"  he  ve»twed 
to  say,  "  and,"  sniffing  the  bowl,  "  it  ain't  had  Kathin' 
more  deadly  than  dried  mullen  leares  in  it  so  far.  Ain't 
a  great  deal  of  harm  in  a  boy  smokin*  mullen  leaves, 
shorely,  Mary." 

' '  Oh,  is  that  so  ?  Haven 't  I  heered  you  an '  Cobin  Keeler 
say,  time  and  ag'in,  that  that's  how  yow  both  got  the 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  17 

amoke-habit ?  And  look  at  you  old  chimbneys  now;  the 
pipe's  never  out 'a  your  mouths." 

"Ill  talk  things  over  with  Billy  in  the  morain'," 
promised  Wilson  as  he  took  the  boot-jack  from  its  peg. 

"  A  pile  of  good  your  talkin'  '11  do,"  she  cried.  "I'm 
goin'  to  talk  things  over  with  that  boy  with  a  hickory 
ram-rod,  jest  as  soon  as  I  feel  he's  proper  asleep;  that's 
what  I'm  goin'  to  do!  Who's  trainin'  that  boy,  you  er 
me?  "  she  demanded. 

"  You,  of  course,  Mary." 

"  Well  then,  you  best  let  me  be.  What  I  feel  he  should 
get,  he's  goin'  to  get,  and  get  right.  You  keep  out 'a  this, 
Tom  Wilson,  if  you  want  me  to  keep  on;  that's  all." 

' '  It  don 't  seem  right  to  wake  boys  up  just  to  give  'em 
a  whalin',  Mary,*'  he  protested.  "  My  Ma  used  to  wake 
me  up  sometimes,  but  never  to  whale  me.  I'd  rather 
remember —  " 

' '  Shut  up !  I  tell  you,  I 'm  goin'  to  give  him  the  hickory 
this  night  or  I'm  goin'  to  know  the  reason  why.  Ill  break 
that  boy  of  his  bad  habits  er  I'll  break  my  arm  tryin'. 
You  let  me  be !  " 

"I'm  not  findin*  fault  with  your  methods  of  trainin' 
boys,  Mary,"  her  husband  hastened  to  say.  "  You're  doin* 
your  best  by  Billy,  I  know  that  right  well.  And  Billy  is 
rather  a  tough  stick  of  first-growth  timber  to  whittle 
smooth  and  straight,  I  know  that,  too.  But  the  gnarliest 
hickory  makes  the  best  axe-handle,  so  maybe  hell  make  a 
good  man  some  day,  with  your  help." 

"  5umph!  well  that  bein'  so,  I'm  goin'  to  help  him  see 
the  error  of  his  ways  this  night  if  ever  I  did,"  she  promised 
grimly. 

Something  like  a  muffled  chuckle  came  from  behind  the 
stairway  door,  but  the  good  woman,  intent  on  her  grievance, 


18  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

did  not  hear  it.  "Wilson  heard,  however,  and  let  the  boot- 
jack fall  to  the  floor  with  a  clatter.  He  picked  it  up  and 
carried  it  over  to  its  accustomed  peg  on  the  wall,  whistling 
softly  the  tune  which  he  had  whistled  to  Billy  in  the  old 
romping,  astride-neck  days: 

Oh,  you'd  better  be  up,  and  away,  lad. 

You  better  be  up  and  away! 

There  is  danger  here  in  the  glade,  lad, 

It's  a  heap  of  trouble  you've  made,  lad  — 

So  you'd  better  be  up  and  away! 

Over  beside  the  table,  Mrs.  Wilson  watched  him  from 
somber  eyes. 

"  That's  right!  "  she  sighed.  "  Whistle!  It  shows  all 
you  care.  That  boy  could  do  anythin'  he  wanted  to  do  an' 
you  wouldn't  say  a  word;  no,  not  a  word!  " 

Wilson  did  not  answer.  He  was  listening  for  the  stairs 
to  creak,  telling  him  that  Billy  had  left  his  eaves-dropping 
for  the  security  of  the  loft. 

Billy  had  heard  and  understood.  When  his  dad  sent 
him  one  of  those  "  up  and  away  "  signals  he  never  ques- 
tioned its  significance.  He  didn't  like  listening  in  secret, 
but  surely  he  reasoned,  a  boy  had  a  right  to  know  just 
what  was  coming  to  him.  And  he  knew  what  was  coming 
to  him,  all  right  —  a  caning  from  the  supple  hickory  ram- 
rod—  maybe! 

Up  in  the  roomy  loft  which  he  and  his  step-brother, 
Anson,  shared  together,  he  lit  the  lamp.  Anson  was  sleep- 
ing and  Billy  wondered  just  what  he  would  say  when  he 
woke  up  in  the  morning  and  found  his  pants  gone.  Their 
mother  had  demanded  that  a  pair  of  pants  be  thrown  down 
to  her.  Billy  needed  his  own  so  he  had  thrown  down 
Anson 's. 
But  how  in  the  world  was  he  ever  going  to  get  out  of 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  19 

that  window  with  Anson 's  bed  right  up  against  it,  and 
Anson  sleeping  in  the  bed?  Anson  would  be  sure  to  hear 
the  ladder  when  Walter  Watland  and  Maurice  Keeler  raised 
it  against  the  wall.  He  must  get  Anson  up  and  out  of 
that  bed ! 

Billy  placed  the  lamp  on  a  chair  and  reaching  over  shook 
Anson's  long,  regular  snore  into  fragments  of  little  gasps. 
He  shook  harder  and  Anson  sat  up,  sandy  hair  rumpled 
and  pale  blue  eyes  blinking  in  the  light. 

"  What's'amatter?  "  he  asked  sleepily. 

"  Hush,"  cautioned  Billy.  "  Ma's  downstairs  wide 
awake  and  she's  awful  cross.  What  you  been  doin'  to  rile 
her,  Anse?  " 

Anson  frowned  and  scratched  his  head.  "  Did  you  tell 
her  T>out  my  lettin*  the  pigs  get  in  the  garden  when  I 
was  tendin*  gap  this  afternoon?  "  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"  No,  it  ain't  that.  I  guess  maybe  she's  worried  more'n 
cross,  an*  she's  scared  too  —  scared  stiff.  Well,  who 
wouldn't  be  with  that  awful  thing  prowlin'  around  ready 
to  claw  the  insides  out 'a  people  in  their  sleep?  " 

Anson  sat  up  suddenly. 

"  What  you  talkin'  'bout,  Bill?  What  thing?  Who's 
it  been  clawin'?  Hurry  up,  tell  me.'r 

Billy  glanced  at  the  window,  poorly  protected  by  a 
cotton  mosquito  screen,  and  shivered. 

"  Nobody  knows  what  it  is,"  he  whispered.  "  Some  say 
it's  a  gorilla  and  others  say  it's  a  big  lynx.  01'  Harry's 
the  only  one  who  saw  it,  an'  he's  so  clawed  and  bit  he 
can't  describe  it  to  nobody." 

"  Great  Scott!  Bill,  you  mean  to  say  it  got  ol*  Harry?  " 

Billy  nodded.  "  Yep,  last  night.  He  was  asleep  when 
that  thing  climbed  in  his  winder  an'  tried  to  suck  his 
blood  away." 


20  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Ugh!  "  Anson  shuddered  and  pulled  the  bed  clothes 
up  about  his  ears.  "  How  did  it  get  it,  Bill!  Does  any- 
body know?  " 

"  Well,  there  was  a  tree  standin'  jest  outside  his  winder 
same  as  that  tree  stands  outside  this  one.  It  climbed  that 
tree  and  jumped  through  the  mosquito  nettin'  plumb  onto 
ol'  Harry.  He  was  able  to  tell  the  doctor  that  much  afore 
Le  caved  under." 

Anson 's  blue  eyes  were  staring  at  the  wide  unprotected 
window.  Outside,  the  moon  swam  hazily  above  the  forest ; 
shadows  like  huge,  misshapen  monsters  prowled  on  the 
sward ;  weird  sounds  floated  up  and  died  on  the  still  air. 

"  Bill,"  Anson 's  voice  was  shaking,  "  I  don't  feel  like 
sleep  in'  longside  this  winder.  That  awful  thing  might  come 
shinnin'  up  that  tree  an'  gulp  me  up.  I'm  goin'  down 
and  ask  Ma  if  I  can't  sleep  out  in  the  shed  with  Moll  an' 
the  pups." 

Billy  promptly  scented  a  new  danger  to  his  plans.  '  If 
I  was  you  I  wouldn't  do  that,  Anse,"  he  advised. 

"  Well,  I'm  goin'  to  do  it."  Anson  sat  up  in  bed  and 
peered  onto  the  floor. 

"  Where  the  dickens  are  my  pants?  "  he  whispered. 
"  See  anythin'  of  'em,  Bill?  " 

"  Anse,"  Billy's  voice  was  sympathetic.  "  I  see  I  have 
to  tell  you  everythin'.  Ma,  she's  goin'  to  give  you  the 
canin'  of  your  young  life,  jest  as  soon  as  she  thinks  we're 
proper  asleep." 

"Canin'?    Me?    Whatfer? " 

"  Why,  ee§m§  she  was  up  here  lookin'  fer  somethin'  a 
little  while  ago.  She  saw  your  pants  layln*  there  an'  she 
thought  maybe  they  needed  patchin',  so  she  took  'em  down 

her.*' 
"Well,  what  of  it?" 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  21 

"  Oh,  nuthin',  only  she  happened  to  find  a  pipe  in  one 
of  the  pockets,  that's  all." 

"  Jerusalem!  "  Anson's  teeth  chattered.  "  Well,  I'm. 
goin'  down  anyway.  I  don't  mind  a  hiding  but  I'm 
derned  if  I'm  goin'  to  lay  here  and  get  clawed  up  by  no 
gorilla." 

"  Anse,  listen,"  Billy  put  a  detaining  hand  on  his 
brother's  shoulder.  "  You  don't  need  to  do  that,  an*  you 
needn't  sleep  in  this  bed  neither.  I'll  sleep  in  it,  an'  you 
kin  sleep  in  mine.  That  gorilla,  er  whatever  it  is,  can't 
hurt  me,  cause  I've  got  that  rabbit-foot  charm  that  Tom 
Dodge  give  me.  I'll  tie  it  round  my  neck." 

Anson  reflected,  shuddering  as  a  long  low  wail  came  from 
the  forest. 

"That's  the  boys,"  Billy  told  himself,  "I've  gotta 
move  fast." 

Aloud  he  urged:  "  Come  on,  Anse.  Get  out  an'  pile 
into  my  bed.  I  ain't  scared  to  sleep  in  yours,  not  a  bit. 
Besides,"  he  added,  "  it'll  save  you  a  canin'  from  Ma." 

"  How  will  it,  I'd  like  to  know?  " 

"  Why  this  way.  Mall  come  creepin'  up  here  in  the 
dark,  when  she  thinks  we're  asleep  an'  she'll  come  straight 
to  this — your  bed.  She'll  turn  down  the  clothes  an'  give 
me  a  slash  or  two,  thinkin'  it's  you.  I'll  let  her  baste  me 
some — then  111  speak  to  her.  She'll  be  so  surprised  she'll 
ferget  all  about  whalin'  you.  She's  that  way,  you  know. 
Like  as  not  she'll  laugh  to  think  she  basted  me — an'  she'll 
be  good-natured  You  needn't  worry  any  about  a  lickin', 
Anse." 

"  Well,  111  take  a  chance,  Bill." 

Anson  got  out  of  bed,  his  white  legs  gleaming  in  the 
yellow  lamp-light  as  he  tiptoed  softly  across  to  Billy's 
cot  and  lay  down. 


22  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Billy  blew  out  the  lamp  and  went  through  the  motions 
of  undressing.  He  removed  one  shoe,  let  it  fall  on  the  floor, 
waited  an  interval  and  let  the  same  shoe  fall  again.  Then 
he  put  it  back  on.  By  and  by  he  lay  down  and  gave  a 
long,  weary  sigh.  Then  he  held  his  breath  and  listened. 

Below  his  window  sounded  a  whippoorwill's  call.  From 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room  came  the  long,  regular  snores 
of  Anson.  Billy  sat  up  in  bed  and  started  to  remove  the 
tacks  from  the  window  screen. 

Something  fell  with  a  thud  against  the  wall  outside,  and 
brushed  against  the  boards.  A  cat  mewed  directly  beneath 
the  window.  Gently  Billy  rolled  the  bed  quilts  into  an 
oblong  shape  resembling  a  human  form,  then  silently  made 
his  way  out  of  the  window. 

His  feet  struck  the  top  round  of  a  ladder.  A  moment 
more  and  he  was  crouching  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  two 
shadowy  forms  squatting  beside  him. 

"  All  hunky?  "  a  voice  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  All  hunky,"  Billy  whispered  back. 

"  Then  come  on." 

But  Billy  plucked  at  the  speaker's  sleeve.  "  Wait  a 
.  minute,  Fatty,"  he  urged.  "  Anson 's  up  there  asleep,  an' 
he's  goin'  to  have  a  wakin'  nightmare  in  about  four 
seconds.  I  jest  heard  Ma  goin '  up. " 

Silence,  deep  and  brooding,  fell.  Then  suddenly  from 
the  loft  came  a  long  wail,  followed  by  a  succession  of 
shorter  gasps  and  gulps,  and  above  the  swish  of  a  hickory 
ram-rod  a  woman's  voice  exclaiming  angrily. 

' '  1 11  teach  you  to  smoke  on  the  sly,  you  young  outlaw, 
you!  " 

"  Now  let's  get  while  the  gettin's  good,"  whispered 
Billy ;  and  the  three  crept  off  into  the  shadows. 

Down  through  the  night-enshrouded   woods  the  boya 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  23 

made  their  way  noiselessly,  Billy  leading,  Walter  Watland, 
nicknamed  Fatty  on  account  of  his  size,  close  behind  him 
and  Maurice  Keeler,  Billy's  sworn  chum  and  confidant, 
bringing  up  the  rear.  Occasionally  a  soft-winged  owl 
fluttered  up  from  its  kill,  with  a  muffled  "  who-who."  Once 
a  heavy  object  plunged  from  the  trail  with  a  snort,  and 
the  boys  felt  the  flesh  along  their  spines  creeping.  They 
kept  on  without  so  much  as  a  word,  crossing  a  swift  creek 
on  a  fallen  tree,  holding  to  its  bank  and  making  a  detour 
into  the  woods  to  avoid  passing  close  to  a  dilapidated  log 
cabin  which  in  the  moonlight  bore  evidence  of  having 
fallen  into  disuse.  As  they  skirted  the  heavy  thicket  of 
pines,  which  even  in  the  summer  night's  stillness  sighed 
low  and  mournfully,  the  leader  halted  suddenly  and  a 
low  exclamation  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  Look!  "  he  whispered.  "  Look!  There's  a  light  in 
the  ha'hted  house." 

His  companions  crept  forward  and  peered  through  the 
trees.  Sure  enough  from  the  one  unglazed  window  of  the 
old  building  came  the  twinkle  of  a  light,  which  bobbed 
about  in  weird,  uncertain  fashion. 

"  Old  Scroggie's  ghost  huntin'  fer  the  lost  money," 
whispered  Walter,  "  Oh,  gosh!  let's  leg  it!  " 

"Leg  nuthin'!  "  Billy  removed  his  hand  from  his 
trousers-pocket  and  waved  something  before  two  pairs  of 
fear-widened  eyes. 

"  '  No  ghost  kin  harm  where  lies  this  charm/  "  he  recited 
solemnly.  "  Now  if  you  fellers  feel  like  beatin'  it,  why 
beat  it;  but  so  long  as  I'm  grabbin'  onto  this  left  hind 
foot  of  a  graveyard  rabbit  I  don't  run  away  from  no 
ghost  —  not  even  old  man  Scroggie  's. ' ' 

"  That's  all  right  fer  you,  Bill,"  returned  Walter,  "  but 
what's  goin'  t'  happen  t'  Maurice  an'  me,  supposin'  that 


24  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

ghost  takes  a  notion  to  gallop  this  way?    That's  what  I 
want 'a  know!  " 

Billy  turned  upon  him.  "  Say,  Fatty,  haven't  I  told 
you  that  this  here  charm  protects  .everybody  with  me?  ' ' 
he  asked  cuttingly. 

"  There's  never  been  a  ghost  that  ever  roamed  nights 
been  able  to  get  near  it.  You  kin  ask  Tom  Dodge  er  any 
of  the  other  Injuns  if  there  has. ' ' 

"  Oh  it  might  lay  an  Injun  ghost,"  said  the  unreason- 
able Fatty,  "  but  how  about  a  white  man's?  How  about 
old  man  Scroggie's,  fer  instance?  You  know  yourself, 
Bill,  old  man  Scroggie  was  a  tartar.  Nobody  ever  fooled 
him  while  he  was  alive  an'  nobody  need  try  now  he's  dead. 
If  he  wants  to  come  back  here  an'  snoop  round  lookin'  fer 
the  money  he  buried  an'  forgot  where,  it's  his  own  funeral. 
I'm  fer  not  mixin'  up  in  this  thing  any —  " 

"  Keep  still!  "  cautioned  Billy,  "an'  look  yonder!  See 
it?" 

He  pointed  through  the  trees  to  an  open  glade  in  the 
grove.  The  full  moon,  riding  high  in  the  sky,  threw  her 
light  fair  upon  the  fern-sown  sod ;  across  the  glade  a  white 
object  was  moving  —  drifting  straight  toward  the  watchers. 
Billy,  tightly  gripping  his  rabbit's  foot  charm  in  one  sweaty 
hand  and  a  rough-barked  sapling  in  the  other,  felt  Walter's 
hands  clutching  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh  Jerusalem!  "  groaned  the  terrified  Fatty,  "  It's 
the  ghost!  Look,  it's  sheddin*  blue  grave-mist!  Fer  the 
love  of  Mike  let's  git  out 'a  this!  " 

"  Wait/'  gulped  Billy,  but  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  he 
was  wavering.  His  feet  were  getting  uneasy,  his  toes 
fairly  biting  holes  through  his  socks  in  their  eagerness 
to  tear  up  the  sward.  But  as  leader  it  would  never  do 
for  him  to  show  the  white  feather. 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  25 

The  approaching  terror  had  drifted  into  the  shadow 
again.  Suddenly,  so  near  that  it  fairly  seemed  to  scorch 
the  frowsy  top  of  the  sapling  to  which  he  was  hanging,  a 
weird  blue  light  twisted  upward  almost  in  Billy's  eyes.  At 
the  same  moment  a  tiny  hoot-owl,  sleeping  off  its  early 
evening's  feed  in  the  cedar  close  beside  the  boys,  woke  up 
and  gave  a  ghostly  cry.  It  was  too  much  for  over- 
strained nerves  to  stand.  Billy  felt  Fatty's  form  quiver 
and  leap  even  before  his  agonized  howl  fell  on  his  ears  — 
a  cry  which  he  and  Maurice  may  have  echoed,  for  all  he 
knew. 

They  were  fully  a  mile  away  from  the  place  of  terror 
before  sheer  exhaustion  forced  them  to  abate  their  wild 
speed  and  tumble  in  a  heap  beneath  a  big  elm  tree,  along 
the  trail  of  the  forest. 

For  a  time  they  lay  gasping  and  quivering.  Maurice 
Keeler  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  Say,  Bill,"  he  shivered, 
"  is  it  light  enough  fer  you  to  see  if  the  hair  is  scorched 
off  one  side  o'  my  head?  That — that  ghost's  breath  shot 
blue  flame  square  in  my  face." 

"  It  grabbed  me  in  its  bony  fingers,"  whispered  Fatty. 
"  Gosh,  it  tore  the  sleeve  fair  out 'a  my  shirt.  Look!  " 
And  to  prove  the  truth  of  his.  statement  he  lifted  a  fat 
arm  to  which  adhered  a  tattered  sleeve. 

Billy  sat  up  and  surveyed  his  companions  with  disgust. 

"  A  nice  pair  of  scare-babies  you  two  are/  he  said, 
scathingly.  "  A  great  pair  you  are  to  help  me  find  old 
Scroggie's  will  an'  money.  Why,  say,  if  you'd  only  kept 
your  nerve  a  little,  that  ghost  would 'a  led  us  right  to  the 
spot,  most  likely ;  but  'stead  o*  that  you  take  to  your  heels 
at  first  sight  of  it.  Say!  I  thought  you  both  had  more 
sand." 

Maurice  squirmed   uncomfortably.     "  Now   look  here, 


26  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Bill,"  lie  protested,  "  Fatty  an'  me  wasn't  any  scarter 
than  you  was,  yourself.  Who  made  the  first  jump,  I 
want 'a  know;  who?  " 

"  Well,  who  did?  "  snapped  Billy,  glowering  at  his  two 
bosom  friends. 

"  You  did,"  Maurice  affirmed.  "  An'  you  grabbed 
Fatty  by  the  arm  an'  pulled  his  shirt  sleeve  out.  I  saw 
you.  And  you  can't  say  you  didn't  run  neither,  else  how 
did  you  get  here  same  time  as  Fatty  an'  me?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  run,  but  I  own  I  f ottered  you,"  com- 
promised Billy.i  "  There  wasn't  anythin'  else  I  could  do, 
was  there  ?  How  did  I  know  what  you  two  scared  rabbits 
ud  do?  You  might 'a  run  plumb  into  Lake  Brie  an'  got 
drownded,  you  was  so  scared.  Somebody's  had  to  keep 
his  head,"  he  said  airily. 

"  Well  I  kept  mine  by  havin'  a  good  pair  of  legs," 
groaned  Fatty.  "I'm  not  denyin'  that.  And  by  gravy, 
if  they  had  been  good  enough  fer  a  thousand  miles  I'd've 
let  'em  go  the  limit.  Scared!  Oh  yowlin'  wildcats!  I'll 
eee  ghosts  an'  smell  brimstone  the  rest  o'  my  life." 

"  Boys,"  cried  Billy  in  awed  tones.    "It's  gone!  " 

"What's  gone?  "  asked  his  companions  in  a  breath. 

Billy  was  feeling  frantically  in  his  pockets.  "  My  rab- 
bit foot  charm,"  he  groaned.  "  I  fell  over  a  log  an'  it 
must 'a  slipped  out 'a  my  pocket." 

"  You  had  it  in  your  hand  when  th'  ghost  poked  its 
blue  tongue  in  our  faces,"  affirmed  Maurice.  "  I  saw  it." 

"  You  throwed  somethin'  at  the  ghost  afore  you  howled 
an'  run,"  Fatty  stated.  "  Maybe  it  was  the  rabbit  foot?  " 

"  '  No  ghost  kin  harm  where  lies  this  charm,' ' 
chuckled  Maurice. 

Billy  turned  on  him.  "  If  you  want 'a  make  fun  of  a 
charm,  why  all  right,  go  ahead,"  he  said  coldly.  "  Only 


BILLY  WILSON'S  STRATEGY  27 

I  know  I  wouldn't  do  it,  not  if  I  wanted  it  to  save  me 
from  a  ghost,  anyway." 

Maurice  looked  frightened.  "  I  wasn't  pokin'  fun  at 
the  charm,  Bill,  cross  my  heart,  I  wasn't,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"  All  right  then,  see  that  you  don't.  Now,  see  here,  I'll 
tell  you  somethin'.  I  did  throw  my  rabbit's  foot  charm 
but  that  was  to  keep  that  ghost  from  follerin'.  Maybe  you 
two  didn't  hear  it  snort  when  it  got  to  that  charm  an* 
tried  to  pass  it,  so's  to  catch  up  to  us;  but  I  heard  it. 
Oh  say,  but  wouldn't  it  be  mad  though!  " 

"  An'  that's  why  you  throwed  it,"  exclaimed  the  ad- 
miring Maurice.  "  Gosh,  nobody  else  would  ra  thought 
of  that." 

"Nobody,"  echoed  Fatty,  "nobody  but  BUI." 

"  Well,  somebody  has  to  think  in  a  case  o'  that  kind," 
admitted  Billy,  "an'  think  quick.  It  was  up  to  me  to 
save  you,  an'  I  did  the  only  thing  I  could  think  of  right 
then." 

Just  here  the  whistle  of  bob-white  sounded  from  a 
little  distance  along  the  trail. 

"  That's  Elgin  Scraff  and  Tom  Holt  comin'  to  look  fer 
us,"  cried  Maurice. 

"  Answer  'em,"  said  Billy. 

Maurice  puckered  up  his  lips  and  gave  an  answering 
call.  It  was  returned  almost  immediately.  A  moment 
later  two  more  boys  came  into  the  moonlight. 

"  We  wondered  what  kept  you  fellers,  so  came  lookin' 
fer  you,"  spoke  Tom  Holt  as  they  came  up.  "  Thought 
you'd  be  comin'  by  the  tamarack  swamp  trail,  an'  we  stuck 
around  there  fer  quite  a  while,  waitin'.  Then  Elgin  said 
maybe  you  had  come  the  ha'nted  house  way,  so  we  struck 
through  the  bush  an'  tried  to  pick  up  your  trail.  Once 
we  thought  we  saw  the  ghost,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  old 


28  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Bingold's  white  yearlin'  steer.  It  had  rubbed  up  ag'inst 
some  will-o-the-wisp  fungus  an*  it  fair  showered  sparks 
of  blue  fire.  If  we  hadn't  heered  it  bawlin'  we'd  have 
run  sure." 

Somewhere  behind  him  Billy  heard  a  giggle,  which  was 
immediately  suppressed  as  he  turned  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Yep,"  he  replied,  "we  saw  that  steer,  too.  We've 
been  waitin'  here,  hopin'  we'd  hear  your  whistle.  I  won- 
der what  time  it's  gettin*  to  be?  " 

Tom  Holt,  the  proud  possessor  of  a  watch,  consulted  it. 
"  Ten  twelve  an'  a  half,"  he  answered,  holding  the  dial 
to  the  moon-light.  "  Sandtown  '11  be  sound  asleep.  Come 
on,  let's  go  down  to  the  lake  an'  make  a  haul." 

"I  s'pose  we  might  be  goin',"  said  Billy.  "  All  right, 
fellers,  come  along." 

Arriving  at  the  lake  the  boys  learned  after  careful 
reconnoitering  that  everything  was  clear  for  immediate 
action.  Not  a  light  glimmered  from  the  homes  of  the 
fishermen,  to  show  that  they  were  awake  and  vigilant. 

The  white-fish  run  was  on  and  when  the  boys,  launching 
the  big  flat-bottomed  fish  boat,  carefully  cast  and  drew 
in  the  long  seine  it  held  more  great  gleaming  fish  than 
they  knew  how  to  dispose  of. 

"  Only  one  thing  to  do,"  reasoned  Billy,  "  take  what 
we  want  an'  let  the  rest  go." 

And  this  they  did.  When  they  left  the  beaeh  the  moon 
was  low  above  the  Point  pines,  the  draw-seine  was  back  in 
its  place  on  the  big  reel  and  there  was  nothing  to  show 
the  lake  fishermen  that  the  Scotia  Fish  Supply  Company 
had  been  operating  on  their  grounds. 


CHAPTER  II 
A  SHOWER  OP  FISH 

Between  the  fishermen  of  Sandtown  and  the  farmers  of 
the  community  existed  no  very  strong  bond  of  sympathy 
or  friendship.  The  former  were  a  dissolute,  shiftless  lot, 
quite  content,  with  draw-seine  and  pound-net,  to  eke  out 
a  miserable  existence  in  the  easiest  manner  possible.  They 
were  tolerated  just  as  the  poor  and  shiftless  of  any  com- 
munity are  tolerated;  their  children  were  allowed  to 
attend  the  school  the  same  as  the  children  of  the  tax- 
payers. 

Each  spring  the  farmers  attended  the  fishermen's  annual 
bee  of  pile-driving,  which  meant  the  placing  of  the  stakes 
for  the  pound  nets  —  a  dangerous  and  thankless  task.  Wet, 
weary  and  hungry,  they  would  return  to  their  homes  at 
night  with  considerable  more  faith  in  the  reward  that 
comes  of  helping  one's  fellow-men  than  in  the  promise  of 
the  fishermen  to  keep  them  supplied,  gratis,  with  all  the 
fresh  fish  they  needed  during  the  season. 

As  far  back  as  any  of  the  farmers  could  remember  the 
fishermen  had  made  that  promise  and  in  no  case  had  it 
been  fulfilled.  So  they  came,  in  time,  to  treat  it  as  a 
joke.  Nevertheless,  they  were  always  on  hand  to  help  with 
the  pile-driving.  They  were  an  old-fashioned,  simple- 
hearted  people,  content  with  following  the  teachings  of 
their  good  Book  —  "  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  for 
thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days." 

And  find  it  they  did,  ultimately,  in  a  mysterious  and 
unexpected  way.  One  late  June  morning  each  of  the 

29 


30  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

farmers  who  had  for  season  after  season  toiled  with  those 
fishermen  without  faintest  hope  of  earthly  reward  awoke 
to  find  a  mess  of  fresh  lake  fish  hanging  just  outside  their 
respective  doors.  It  was  a  great  and  wonderful  revelation. 
The  circuit  minister,  Rev.  Mr.  Reddick,  whose  love  for  and 
trust  in  his  fellow-men  was  all-embracing,  wept  when  the 
intelligence  was  imparted  to  him,  and  took  for  his  text  011 
the  Sunday  following  a  passage  of  scripture  dealing  with 
the  true  reward  of  unselfish  serving.  It  was  a  stirring 
sermon,  the  rebuke  of  a  father  to  his  children  who  had 
erred. 

"Oh  ye  of  little  faith,"  he  concluded,  "  let  this  be 
a  lesson  to  you;  and  those  of  you,  my  brothers,  whose 
judgment  of  humanity  has  been  warped  through  God- 
given  prosperity,  get  down  on  your  knees  and  pray  humbly 
for  light,  remembering  that  Christ  believed  in  His  fisher- 
men." 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  Deacon  Ringold  called 
a  few  of  the  leading  church  members  together  and  to  them 
spoke  his  mind  thus: 

"  Brothers,  you  heard  what  our  minister  said,  an'  he's 
right.  I,  f er  one,  am  ashamed  of  the  thoughts  I  've  thought 
to'rds  them  fishermen  of  Sandtown.  I've  acted  mean  to 
'em  in  lots  of  ways,  I'll  admit.  An'  so  have  you  —  you 
can't  deny  it!  " 

The  deacon,  a  florid,  full-whiskered  man  of  about  sixty, 
glowered  about  him.  No  one  present  thought  of  disputing 
his  assertion.  The  deacon  was  a  power  in  the  community. 

"  I  tell  you,  brothers,"  he  continued,  waxing  eloquent, 
"  the  old  devil  is  pretty  smooth  and  hell  get  inside  the 
guard  of  Christianity  every  time  unless  we  keep  him 
barred  by  acts  of  Christly  example.  I  have  been  down- 
right contemptuous  to  them  poor  sand  folks ;  I  have  so  ? 


A  SHOWER  OF  FISH  31 

Time  and  ag'in  I've  refused  'em  even  the  apples  rottin* 
on  the  ground  in  my  orchard.  Now,  I  tell  you  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do.  I'm.  goin'  to  load  up  my  wagon  with  such 
fruit  an*  vegetables  as  they  never  get  a  smell  of,  an'  I'm 
goin'  to  drive  down  there  and  distribute  it  among  'em. 
I  ain't  suggestin'  that  you  men  do  likewise  —  that's 
between  you  and  your  conscience — but,"  he  added,  glar- 
ing about  him,  "I'd  like  to  know  if  any  of  you  has  any 
suggestions  to  make.1' 

A  tall,  sad-visaged  man  rose  slowly  from  his  seat  and 
took  a  few  steps  up  the  aisle.  Like  the  others  he  was  full 
bearded;  like  them  his  hands  bore  the  calluses  of  honest 
toil. 

"  Fisherman  Shipley  wanted  to  buy  a  cow  from  me  on 
time,"  he  said.  "  I  refused  him.  If  you  don't  mind, 
Deacon,  I'll  lead  her  down  behind  your  wagon  tomorrow." 

Ringold  nodded  approval.  "  All  right,  Neighbor  Wat- 
land.  Anybody  else  got  anythin'  to  say?  " 

A  short,  heavy  set  man  stirred  in  his  seat,  and  spoke 
without  rising.  "I'm  only  a  poor  workin'-man,  without 
anythin'  to  give  but  the  strength  of  my  arm,  but  I'm  willin' 
to  go  down  and  help  them  fishermen  build  their  smoke- 
houses. I'm  a  pretty  good  carpenter,  as  you  men  know." 

"  That  you  are,  Jim,"  agreed  the  deacon  heartily. 
"  We'll  tell  'em  that  Jim  Glover  11  be  down  to  give  'em 
a  hand  soon." 

One  by  one  others  got  up  and  made  their  little  offers. 
Cobin  Keeler,  a  giant  in  stature,  combed  his  flowing  beard 
with  his  fingers  and  announced  he'd  bring  along  a  load 
of  green  corn-fodder.  Gamp  Stevens  promised  three  bags 
of  potatoes,  Joe  Scraff,  a  little  man  with  a  thin  voice,  said 
he  had  some  lumber  that  the  fishermen  might  as  well  be 
using  for  their  smoke-houses.  Each  of  the  others  present 


32  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

offered  to  do  his  part,  and  then  the  men  separated  for 
their  several  homes. 

"  Understand,  brothers,"  the  deacon  admonished  as  they 
parted,  "  we  must  be  careful  not  to  let  them  poor,  ignorant 
people  think  we're  doin'  this  little  act  of  Christianity 
because  they've  seen  fit  to  fulfill  their  promise  to  us 
regardin'  fish.  That  would  spoil  the  spirit  of  our  givin*. 
Let  not  one  man  among  us  so  much  as  mention  fish. 
Brotherly  kindness,  Christian  example.  That's  our  motto, 
brothers,  and  we'll  f oiler  it." 

"  You're  right,  Deacon,"  spoke  Cobin  Keeler. 

"  He's  always  right,"  commented  Scraff,  who  owed  the 
deacon  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars.  "  An',"  he  added, 
**'  while  we're  hangin'  strictly  to  Bible  teachin',  might  it 
not  be  a  good  idea  f er  us  not  to  let  our  left  hand  know 
what  our  right  hand's  doin'?  " 

"  Meanin'  outsiders?  "  questioned  Keeler. 

"  Outsiders  and  insiders  as  well ;  our  wives  fer  instance.'* 
Scraff  had  a  mental  vision  of  a  certain  woman  objecting 
strenuously  to  the  part  he  hoped  personally  to  play  in  the 
giving. 

"  Humph,"  said  the  deacon,  "  Joe  Scraff  may  be  right 
at  that.  Maybe  it  would  be  just  as  well  if  we  kept  our 
own  counsel  in  this  matter,  brothers.  Tomorrow  mornin', 
early,  let  each  of  us  prepare  his  offerin'  and  depart  fer 
the  lake.  "We'll  meet  there  and  make  what  distribution 
of  our  gifts  as  seems  fair  to  them  cheats  —  I  mean  them 
poor  misguided  fishermen,"  he  corrected  hurriedly. 

And  so  they  parted  with  this  understanding.  And  when 
their  footsteps  had  died  away,  a  small,  dusty  boy  crawled 
out  from  under  the  penitent  bench,  slipped  like  a  shadow 
to  a  window,  opened  it  and  dropped  outside. 

By  mid-afternoon  Billy  "Wilson's  boon  companions  had 


A  SHOWER  OF  FISH  ,         33 

learned  from  him  that  a  good-will  offering  was  to  be  made 
the  fishermen  of  Sandtown  by  the  people  of  Scotia.  It 
was  a  terrible  disgrace  —  a  dangerous  state  of  affairs.  The 
hated  Sand-sharkers  merited  nothing  and  should  receive 
nothing,  if  Billy  and  his  friends  could  help  it.  Immediate 
action  was  necessary  if  the  plan  of  the  farmers  was  to  be 
frustrated  and  the  outlaw  fishermen  kept  in  their  proper 
place.  So  Billy  and  his  friends  held  a  little  caucus  in  the 
beach  grove  behind  the  school-house.  For  two  hours  they 
talked  together  in  low  tones.  Then  Billy,  arose  and  crept 
stealthily  away  through  the  trees.  The  others  silently 

separated. 

***** 

Sunset  was  streaking  the  pine  tops  with  spun  gold  and 
edging  the  gorgeous  fabric  with  crimson  ribbons;  the  big 
lake  lay  like  an  opal  set  in  coral.  Fishermen  Shipley 
and  Sward,  seated  on  the  bow  of  their  old  fish-boat,  were 
idly  watching  the  scene  when  Billy  Wilson  approached, 
hands  in  pockets  and  gravely  surveyed  them. 

Shipley  was  a  small,  wizened  man  with  scant  beard  and 
hair.  He  wheezed  a  "Hello,  Sonny"  at  Billy,  while  he 
packed  the  tobacco  home  in  his  short,  black  pipe  with  a 
claw-like  finger. 

His  companion,  a  tall,  thin  man,  grinned,  but  said  noth- 
ing. His  red  hair  was  long  and  straggly;  splashes  of 
coal-tar  besmeared  him  from  the  neckband  of  his  greasy 
shirt  to  the  bottoms  of  his  much-patched  overalls. 

"  What  dye  you  want,  boy?  "  Shipley's  pipe  was  alight 
now  and  he  peered  down  at  Billy  through  the  pungent 
smoke- wreaths. 

"  I  was  sent  down  here  to  give  you  a  message,  Mr.  Ship- 
ley,^' said  Billy. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  then?    Who  sent  you?    Come  now, 


34  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

out  with  it  quick,  or  I  '11  take  a  tarred  rope-end  to  you. ' ' 

"  It  was  Deacon  Eingold  sent  me,"  Billy  answered. 
"  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he's  got  to  turn  his  pigs  into 
the  orchard  tomorrow  an'  that  you  an'  the  other  people 
here  might  as  well  come  an'  gather  up  the  apples  on  the 
ground  if  you  want-  'em." 

"  What!  "  Shipley  and  Sward  started  so  forcibly  that 
their  heads  came  together  with  a  bump.  "  So  the  old 
skinflint  is  goin'  to  give  us  his  down  apples,  is  he?  " 
wheezed  Shipley.  "  Well,  he  ain't  givin'  much,  but  we'll 
come  over  tonight  and  get  'em.  It's  a  wonder  the  old 
hypocrite  would  let  us  gather  'em  on  Sunday  night,  ain't 
it,  Benjamin?  "  he  addressed  his  companion. 

"  He's  afeerd  they'll  make  his  hogs  sick  most  like," 
sneered  Sward. 

"  He  says,  if  you  don't  mind,  to  come  about  ten  or 
'leven  o'clock,"  said  Billy. 

Shipley  threw  back  his  head  and  chuckled  a  wheezing 
laugh.  "Loramity!  Benjamin,"  he  choked,  ''can't  you 
get  his  reason  fer  that?  He  wants  to  make  sure  that  all 
the  prayer-meetin'  folks  will  be  gone  home.  It  wouldn't 
do  fer  'em  to  see  us  helpin'  keep  the  deacon's  pigs  from 
cholery.  Ain't  that  like  the  smooth  old  weasel,  though?  " 

11  What '11 1  tell  Mr.  Ringold?  "  asked  Billy  as  he  turned 
to  go. 

"  You  might  tell  him  that  he's  an  angel  if  you  wanter 
lie  to  him,"  returned  Shipley,  "  or  that  he's  a  canny  old 
skin-flint,  if  you  wanter  tell  him  the  truth.  I  reckon, 
though,  sonny,  you  best  tell  him  that  we'll  be  along  'tween 
ten  and  'leven. 

"  That's  a  nice  lookin'  youngster,"  remarked  Sward, 
as  Billy  was  lost  among  the  pines.  "  Notice  the  big  eyes 
of  him,  Jack?  " 


A  SHOWER  OF  FISH  35 

"  Yes.  Oh,  I  daresay  the  boy's  all  right,  Benjamin,  but 
he  belongs  to  them  Scotians  and  they're  no  friends  of  ourn. 
I  reckon  I  scared  him  some  when  I  threatened  to  give 
him  the  rope,  eh?  " 

"  Well,  he  wasn't  givin'  no  signs  that  you  did,"  Sward 
returned,  "  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  tryin'  his  best  to  keep 
from  laughin'  in  your  face." 

"  By  thunder!  did  he  now?  " 

"  Fact,  Jack.  Seems  to  me  them  young  Scotians  don't 
scare  very  easy.  However,"  sliding  off  the  boat,  "  that 
ain't  gettin'  ready  for  the  «ppie  gathering  Let's  go  and 
mosey  up  some  sacks  and  get  the  others  in  line." 

Shipley  laid  a  claw-like  hand  on  his  friend's  arm  and 
turned  his  rheumy  eyes  on  Sward's  blinking  blue  ones. 
"  Benjamin,  we're  goin'  after  the  deacon's  apples,  but  we 
ain't  goin'  to  take  no  windfalls." 

"  You  mean  we'll  strip  the  trees,  Jack?  "  exulted  Sward. 

"  Exactly.  And,  Benjamin,  kin  you  imagine  the  old 
deacon's  face  in  the  mornin'  when  he  sees  what  we've 
done?  "  And  the  two  cronies  went  off  laughing  over  their 

prospective  raid. 

***** 

Sunday-night  prayer  meeting  was  just  over.  The  wor- 
shippers had  gone  from  the  church  in  twos  and  threes. 
Deacon  Ringold  had  remained  behind  to  extinguish  the 
church  lights  and  lock  up.  As  he  stepped  from  the  porch 
into  the  shadows  along  the  path,  a  small  hand  gripped 
his  arm. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  the  startled  deacon.  "Why, 
bless  us,  it's  a  boy!  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you 
want?  " 

Apparently  the  boy  did  not  hear  the  first  question. 
"Mr.  Bingold,"  he  whispered,  "I  waited  here  to  see 


36  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

you.     The  Sandtown  fishermen  are  comin'  to  rob  your 
orchard  tonight." 

"What?"  The  deacon  gripped  the  boy's  arm  and 
shook  him.  "  What's  that  you  say?  "  he  questioned 
eagerly. 

"  I  was  down  to  the  lake  this  evenin',"  said  the  boy, 
"  an'  I  heard  Shipley  and  Sward  talkin'  together.  They 
was  plannin*  a  raid  on  your  orchard  tonight. " 

Mr.  Kdngold  fairly  gasped.  "  Oh,  the  thankless,  mis- 
guided wretches !  "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  And  to  think  that 
we  were  foolish  enough  to  feel  that  we  hadn't  treated 
'em  with  Christian  kindness.  Did  you  hear  'em  say  what 
time  they  was  comin',  boy?  " 

"  Yes  sir.     They  said  'bout  half -past  ten." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  on  hand  to  receive  *em,"  the  deacon 
promised,  "  and  if  I  don't  teach  them  thieves  and  rogues 
a  lesson  it'll  be  a  joke  on  me.  Now  I  must  run  on  and 
catch  up  with  Cobin  Keeler  and  the  rest  o'  the  neighbors. 
They've  got  to  know  about  this,  so,  if  you'll  jest  tell  me 
your  name  —  why,  bless  me,  the  boy's  gone!  " 

The  deacon  stood  perplexedly  scratching  his  head.  Then 
he  started  forward  on  a  run  to  tell  those  who  had  planned 
with  him  a  little  surprise  gift  for  the  fishermen  of  the 
perfidy  of  human  nature. 

That  night  the  fishermen  of  Sandtown  were  caught  red- 
handed,  stealing  Deacon  Ringold's  harvest  apples.  Like 
hungry  ants  scenting  sugar  they  descended  upon  that 
orchard,  en  masse,  at  exactly  ten-thirty  o'clock.  By  ten- 
forty  they  had  done  more  damage  to  the  hanging  fruit 
than  a  wind  storm  could  do  in  an  hour  and  at  ten-forty-five 
they  were  pounced  upon  by  the  angry  deacon  and  his 
neighbors  and  given  the  lecture  of  their  lives.  In  vain 
they  pleaded  that  it  was  all  a  mistake,  that  they  had  been 


A  SHOWER  OF  FISH  37 

sent  an  invitation  via  a  small  boy,  from  the  deacon  himself. 

Ringold  simply  growled  "  lying  ingrates,"  and  bade 
them  begone  and  never  again  to  so  much  as  dare  lay  a 
boot-sole  on  his  or  his  neighbors'  property.  And  so  they 
went,  and  with  them  went  all  hope  of  a  possible  drawing 
together  in  Christian  brotherhood  of  the  two  factions. 

"  Brothers,"  spoke  the  deacon  sadly,  as  he  and  his 
neighbors  were  about  to  separate,  "  I  doubt  if  we  have 
displayed  the  proper  Christian  spirit,  but  even  a  Chris- 
tian must  protect  his  property.  Oh,  why  didn't  some 
small  voice  whisper  to  them  poor  misguided  people  and 
warn  'em  to  be  patient  and  all  would  be  well." 

"  It  means,  o'  course,  that  we'll  get  no  more  fish," 
spoke  up  the  practical  Scraff. 

"  Oh  yes  you  will,"  spoke  a  voice,  seemingly  above  their 
heads. 

"  Oh  yes  you  will,"  echoed  another  voice  on  the  left, 
and  on  the  right  still  another  voice  chanted.  "  You  will, 
you  will." 

"  Mercies  on  us!  "  cried  the  amazed  deacon,  clutching 
the  fence  for  support.  "  Whose  voice  was  that?  You 
heard  it,  men.  Whose  was  it?  " 

The  others  stood,  awed,  frightened. 

"  There  was  three  voices,"  whispered  Scraff.  "  They 
seemed  to  be  scattered  among  the  trees.  It's  black  magic, 
that's  what  it  is  —  or  old  Scroggie's  ghost,"  he  finished 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Joe,  I'm  ashamed  of  you,"  chided  the  white-faced 
deacon.  "  Come  along  to  my  house,  all  of  you,  and  I'll 
have  wife  make  us  a  strong  cup  of  tea." 

They  passed  on,  and  then  from  the  sable-hued  cedars 
bordering  the  orchard  four  small  figures  stole  and  moved 
softly  away. 


38  A  SON  OF  COUEAGE 

Once  safely  out  on  the  road  they  paused  to  look  back. 

"  Boys,"  whispered  Billy,  "  she  worked  fine.  Them 
Sand-sharkers  are  goin'  to  stay  where  they  belong.  An', 
fellers,  seein'  as  we've  promised  fish,  fish  it's  gotta  be." 
And  so  was  formed  the  Scotia  Pish  Supply  Company. 

Four  shadowy  forms  drifted  apart  and  were  lost  in 
deeper  shadows.  The  golden  moon  rode  peacefully  in  the 
summer  sky. 


CHAPTER  III 

APPRAISING  THE  NEW   TEACHER 

The  morning  wood-mists  were  warm,  sweet-scented;  the 
wood-birds'  song  of  thanksgiving  was  glad  with  the  essence 
of  God-given  life.  But  the  man  astride  the  dejected  and 
weary  horse  saw  none  of  the  beauties  of  his  surroundings, 
heard  none  of  the  harmony,  experienced  none  of  the 
exhilaration  of  the  life  all  about  him,  as  he  rode  slowly 
down  the  winding  trail  between  the  trees.  He  sat  erect 
in  his  saddle,  eyes  fixed  straight  before  him.  His  face 
was  strong  and  seamed  with  tiny  lines.  The  prominence 
of  his  features  was  accentuated  by  the  thinness  of  the 
face.  Beady  black  eyes  burned  beneath  the  shadows  of 
heavy  brows.  A  shock  of  iron-grey  hair  brushed  his 
shoulders.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  leather-bound  book,  a 
long  thumb  fixed  on  the  printed  page  from  which  his 
attention  had  been  momentarily  diverted  by  his  survey  of 
the  woodland  scene. 

"  Desolation!  "  he  murmured,  "  desolation!  the  natural 
home  of  ignorance." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  old  horse  stood  still. 
"  Thomas,"  cried  the  rider  sternly,  "  did  I  command  you 
to  halt?  " 

From  his  leather  boot-leg  he  extracted  a  long  wand  of 
seasoned  hickory  and  brought  it  down  on  the  bay  flank 
with  a  cutting  swish.  The  hickory  represented  the  symbol 
of  progress  to  Mr.  George  G.  Johnston,  the  new  teacher  of 
Scotia  school.  Certain  it  was  it  had  the  desired  effect  in 
this  particular  instance.  The  aged  horse  broke  into  a 

39 


40  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

jerky  gallop  which  soon  carried  the  rider  out  into  more 
open  country. 

Here  farms,  hemmed  in  by  rude  rail-fences,  looked  up 
from  valley  and  hillside.  Occasionally  a  house  of  greater 
pretensions  than  its  fellows,  and  built  of  unplaned  lumber, 
gleamed  in  the  morning  sunlight  in  gay  contrast  to  the 
dun-colored  log  ones.  But  the  eternal  forest,  the  primi- 
tive offering  of  earth's  first  substance,  obtruded  even  here, 
and  the  rider's  face  set  in  a  frown  as  he  surveyed  the 
vista  before  him. 

Descending  into  a  valley  he  saw  that  the  farm  homes, 
which  from  the  height  seemed  closely  set  together,  were 
really  quite  a  distance  from  each  other.  He  reined  up 
before  a  small  frame  house  and,  dismounting,  allowed  his 
hungry  horse  to  crop  the  grass,  as  he  opened  the  gate  and 
made  up  the  path.  A  shaggie  collie  bounded  around  the 
corner  of  the  building  and  down  to  meet  him,  bristles 
erect  and  all  the  antagonism  of  a  bush-dog  for  a  stranger 
in  its  bearing.  It  was  followed  by  a  big  man  and  a  boy. 

"  Here  you,  Joe,  come  back  here  and  behave  yourself," 
the  master  thundered  and  the  dog  turned  and  slunk  back 
along  the  path. 

'*  Mornin',  sir,"  greeted  Cobin  Keeler. 

In  one  hand  he  carried  a  huge  butcher-knife,  in  the 
other  a  long  whetstone.  More  big  knives  glittered  in  the 
leather  belt  about  his  waist.  "  Jest  sharpenin'  my  knives 
ag'in  the  hog-killinV'  he  explained,  noting  the  stranger's 
startled  look. 

The  teacher  advanced,  his  fears  at  rest.  "  My  name  is 
Johnston,'*  he  said,  "  George  G.  Johnston.  I  was  directed 
here,  sir.  You  are  Mr.  Keeler,  are  you  not,  one  of  the 
trustees  of  the  school  of  which  I  am  to  have  charge  f  " 

Keeler  thrust  out  a  huge  hand.     "  That's  me,"  he 


APPRAISING  THE  NEW  TEACHER  41 

answered.  "  You're  jest  in  time  fer  breakfast.  It's  nigh 
ready.  Come  'round  back  an'  wash  up.  Maurice,  go  put 
the  teacher's  horse  in  the  stable  an'  give  him  a  feed." 

The  teacher  followed  his  host,  gingerly  rubbing  the 
knuckles  which  had  been  left  blue  by  the  farmer's  strong 
grip. 

The  boy,  who  had  been  studying  the  man  before  him, 
turned  away  to  execute  his  father's  order.  If  he  knew 
anything  about  teachers  —  and  he  did  —  he  and  the  other 
lads  of  the  community  were  in  for  a  high  old  time,  he  told 
himself.  He  went  down  to  the  gate,  the  dog  trotting  at 
his  heels. 

"  Joe,"  he  commanded,  "  go  back  home,"  and  the  collie 
lay  down  on  the  path,  head  between  his  forepaws. 

The  boy  went  out  through  the  gate  and  approached  the 
feeding  horse  cautiously.  His  quick  eyes  appraised  its 
lean  sides  and  noted  the  long  welt  made  by  the  hickory  on 
the  clearly  outlined  ribs  beneath  the  bay  hide. 

"  Poor  ol'  beggar,"  he  said  gently. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  horse  lifted  his  head  and 
gazed  at  the  boy  in  seeming  surprise.  A  wisp  of  grass 
dangled  from  his  mouth;  his  ears  pricked  forward.  Per- 
haps something  in  the  boy's  voice  recalled  a  voice  he  had 
known  far  back  along  his  checkered  life,  when  he  was  a 
colt  and  a  bare-legged  youngster  fed  him  sugar  and  rode 
astride  his  back. 

"  He  ought 'a  get  a  taste  o'  the  gad  hisself,"  muttered 
Maurice.     "An'  he's  goin'  to  be  our  teacher,  oh,  Gosh! 
Well,  I  kin  see  where  me  an'  Billy  Wilson  gets  ourn- 
maybe. ' ' 

He  patted  the  horse's  thin  neck.  "  Come,  ol'  feller,  I'll 
stuff  you  with  good  oats  fer  once,"  he  promised. 

The  horse  reached  forward  his  long  muzzle  and  lipped 


42  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

one  of  the  boy's  ears.  "  Say  horses  don't  understand!  " 
grinned  Maurice.  "  Gee!  I  guess  maybe  they  do  under- 
stand, though." 

He  gave  the  horse  another  pat  and  led  him  down  the 
path  into  the  stable.  As  he  unsaddled  him  Maurice  noticed 
the  hickory  wand  which  Mr.  Johnston  had  left  inserted 
between  the  upper  loops  of  a  stirrup. 

"  Hully  gee!  ol'  feller,  look!  "  Maurice  extracted  the 
wand  and  held  it  up  before  the  animal's  gaze.  "  Oh,  don't 
put  your  ears  back  an'  grin  at  me.  I  ain't  goin-  to  use 
it  on  you,"  laughed  the  lad.  "  Look!  This  is  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do  with  that  ol'  bruiser's  pointer."  From  a 
trouser's  pocket  he  extracted  a  jackknife.  "  Now  horsie, 
jest  you  watch  me  close.  The  next  time  he  makes  a  cut 
at  you  he's  goin'  to  get  the  surprise  of  his  life.  There, 
see?  I've  cut  it  through.  Now  I'll  jest  rub  on  some  of 
this  here  clay  to  hide  the  cut.  There  you  be!  If  I  know 
any  thin'  'bout  seasoned  hickory  that  pointer's  goin'  to 
split  into  needles  right  in  his  hand.  I  hope  they  go  through 
his  ol'  fist  and  clinch  on  t'other  side." 

Maurice  gave  the  tired  horse  a  feed  of  oats,  tossed  a 
bundle  of  timothy  into  the  manger,  slapped  the  bay  flank 
once  again  and  went  up  the  path  to  his  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Keeler,  a  swarthy  woman,  almost  as  broad  as  she 
was  tall,  and  with  an  habitual  cloud  of  gloom  on  her  fea- 
tures, met  him  at  the  door.  She  was  very  deaf  and  spoke 
in  the  loud,  querulous  tone  so  often  used  by  people  suffer- 
ing from  that  affliction. 

'  Have  you  seen  him?  "  she  shouted.    "  What  you  think 
of  him,  Maurice?  " 

Maurice  drew  her  outside  and  closed  the  door.  "  Come 
over  behind  the  woodpile,  Ma,  an'  111  tell  you,"  he 
answered  cautiously. 


APPRAISING  THE  NEW  TEACHER  43 

"  No,  teU  me  here." 

"  Can't.    He  might  hear  me." 

"  Then  yon  ain't  took  to  that  new  teacher,  Maurice?  " 

"  Not  what  you'd  notice,  Ma.  He  ain't  any  like  Mr. 
Stanhope.  His  face  —  I  ain't  likin'  it  a  bit.  Besides,  Ma, 
he  flogs  his  poor  horse  somethin'  awful." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  asked  the  mother,  eying 
him  sharply. 

"  Cause  he  left  long  welts  on  him.  He's  out  in  the 
stable.  Go  see  fer  yourself." 

"  No,  I  ain't  got  time.  I  got  t'  fry  some  more  eggs  an' 
ham.  Go  'long  in  to  your  breakfast,  an'  see  you  keep 
your  mouth  shut  durin'  the  meal.  An'  look  here,"  she 
admonished,  "  if  I  ketch  you  apullin'  the  cat's  tail  durin' 
after-breakfast  prayers  I  '11  wollop  you  till  you  can't  stand. ' ' 

Maurice  meekly  followed  his  mother  inside  and  slipped 
into  his  accustomed  place  at  the  table. 

Mr.  Johnston  was  certainly  doing  justice  to  the  crisp 
ham  and  eggs  on  the  platter  before  him.  Occasionally  he 
lifted  his  black  eyes  to  flash  a  look  at  his  host,  who  was 
entertaining  him  with  the  history  of  the  settlement  an4 
its  people. 

"  You'll  find  Deacon  Ringold  a  man  whose  word  is  as 
good  as  his  bond,"  Cobin  was  saying.  "I'm  married  to 
his  sister,  Hannah,  but  I  ain't  sayin'  this  on  that  account. 
The  deacon  is  a  right  good  livin'  man,  fond  of  his  own 
opinions  an'  all  that,  an'  close  on  a  bargain,  but  a  good 
Christian  man.  He's  better  off  than,  anybody  else  in 
these  parts.  But  what  he  got  he  got  honest.  I  '11  say  that, 
even  if  he  is  my  own  brother-in-law." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  spoke  Mr.  Johnston,  impatiently.  "  No 
doubt  I  shall  get  to  know  Mr.  Ringold  very  well.  Now, 
sir,  concerning  your  other  neighbors?  "  Mr.  Johnston 


44  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

held  a  dripping  yolk  of  egg  poised,  peering  from  beneath 
his  brows  at  his  host. 

"  Well,  there's  the  Proctors,  five  families  of  'em  an' 
every  last  one  of  'em  a  brother  to  the  other." 

"  Meaning,  I  presume,  that  there  are  five  brothers  by 
the  name  of  Proctor  living  in  the  community." 

"  By  Gosh,  you've  hit  it  right  on  the  head.  That's  what 
eddication  does  fer  a  man — makes  him  sharp  as  a  razor. 
Yes,  they're  brothers  an'  so  much  alike  all  I've  got  to  do 
is  describe  one  of  'em  an'  you  have  'em  all." 

"  Remarkable,"  murmured  Mr.  Johnston.  "  Remark- 
able, indeed!  " 

"  Did  you  say  more  tea,  teacher?  "  Mrs.  Keeler  was 
at  his  elbow,  steaming  tea-pot  in  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  have  another  cup,"  Mr.  Johnston 
answered,  and  turned  his  eyes  back  to  Cobin. 

' '  You  have  a  neighbor  named  Stanhope,  my  predecessor, 
I  understand,"  he  said  slowly. 

"I'm  proud  to  say  we  have,  sir,"  beamed  Keeler,  "an' 
a  squarer,  finer  young  man  never  lived.  A  mighty  good 
teacher  he  was  too,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  I  have  no  doubt.  I  have  heard  sterling  reports  o,f 
him;  if  he  erred  in  his  task  it  was  because  he  was  too 
lenient.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Keeler,  is  there  not  some  history 
attached  to  him  concerning  a  will,  or  property  left  by  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Scroggie  ?  1 11  admit  I  have  no  motive 
in  so  questioning  save  that  of  curiosity,  but  one  wishes  to 
know  all  one  can  learn  about  the  man  one  is  to  follow. 
Is  that  not  so,  ma'am?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  the  watchful 
hostess. 

"More  hamf  Certainly."  Mrs.  Keeler  came  forward 
with  a  platter,  newly  fried,  and  scraped  two  generous 
slices  onto  Mr.  Johnston's  plate.  "  Now,  sir,  don't  you 


APPRAISING  THE  NEW  TEACHER  45 

be  affeard  to  holler  out  when  you  want  more,"  said  the 
hospitable  housewife.  ,  ^ 

",Ma's  deefness  makes  her  misunderstan '  sometimes,'* 
sV  Golrin  explained  in  an  undertone  to  the  teacher.  ' '  But  I 
was  jest  about  to  tell  you  Mr.  Stanhope's  strange  history, 
sir,  an'  about  ol'  Scroggie's  will.  You  see  the  Stanhopes 
was  the  very  first  to  drop  in  here  an'  take  up  land,  father 
an'  son  named  Prank,  who  wasn't  much  more'n  a  boy,  but 
with  a  mighty  good  eddication. 

"  Roger  Stanhope  didn't  live  long  but  while  he  lived 
he  was  a  right  good  sort  of  man  to  f oiler  an'  before  he 
died  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seein'  the  place  in  which 
he  was  one  of  the  first  to  settle  grow  up  into  a  real  neigh- 
borhood. Young  Frank  had  growed  into  a  big,  strappin' 
feller  by  this  time  an'  took  hold  of  the  work  his  father  had 
begun,  an'  I  must  say  he  did  marvels  in  the  clearin'  an' 
burnin '. 

"  So  things  went  along  fer  a  few  years.  Then  come  a 
letter  from  England  to  Roger  Stanhope.  Frank  read  it 
to  me.  Seems  they  wanted  Stanhope  back  home,  if  he  was 
alive;  if  not  they  wanted  his  son  to  come.  Frank  didn't 
even  answer  that  letter.  He  says  to  me,  '  Mr.  Keeler,  this 
spot's  good  enough  fer  me.'  An'  by  gosh!  he  stayed. 

"  When  this  settlement  growed  big  enough  fer  a  school, 
young  Frank,  who  had  a  school  teacher's  di-ploma,  offered 
to  teach  it.  His  farm  was  pretty  well  cleared  by  this  time, 
so  he  got  a  man  named  Henry  Burke  to  work  it  fer  him 
an'  Burke 's  wife  to  keep  house.  That  was  five  years  ago, 
an'  Frank  has  taught  the  Valley  School  ever  since,  till 
now. ' ' 

Keeler  paused,  and  sighed  deeply.  "  'Course,  sir,  you've 
heerd  what  happened  an'  howl  He  was  try  in'  to  save 
some  horses  from  a  burnin'  stable.  A  blazin'  beam  fell 


46  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

across  his  face;  his  eyes  they — "    Keeler's  voice  grew 
husky. 

"I've  heard,"  said  Mr.  Johnston.  "  His  was  a  brave 
and  commendable  act." 

"  But  he  did  a  braver  thing  than  that,"  cried  Cobin. 
"  He  giv'  up  the  girl  who  was  to  marry  him,  'cause,  he 
said,  his  days  from  now  on  must  be  useless  ones,  an'  he 
wouldn't  bind  the  woman  he  loved  to  his  bleakness  an' 
blackness.  Them  was  his  very  words,  sir. ' ' 

To  this  Mr.  Johnston  made  no  audible  reply.  He  simply 
nodded,  waiting  with  suspended  fork,  for  his  narrator  to 
resume. 

"Concerning  the  purported  will  of  the  eccentric  Mr. 
Scroggie?  "  he  ventured  at  length,  his  host  having  lapsed 
into  silence. 

Keeler  roused  himself  from  his  abstraction  and  resumed : 
"  Bight  next  to  the  Stanhope  farm  there  stood  about  a 
thousand  acres  of  the  purtiest  hardwoods  you  ever  clap't 
an  eye  on,  sir.  An  ol '  hermit  of  a  drunken  Scotchman, 
Scroggie  by  name,  owned  that  land.  He  lived  in  a  dirty 
little  cabin  an'  was  so  mean  even  the  mice  was  scared  to 
eat  the  food  he  scrimped  himself  on.  He  had  money  too, 
lots  an'  lots  of  gold  money.  I've  seen  it  myself.  He  kept 
it  hid  somewhere. 

"  When  the  Stanhopes  built  their  home  on  the  farm, 
which  was  then  mostly  woods,  old  Scroggie  behaved  some- 
thin'  awful.  He  threatened  to  shoot  Stanhope.  But 
Stanhope  only  laughed  an'  went  on  with  his  cuttin'  an* 
stump-pullin'.  Scroggie  used  to  swear  he'd  murder  both 
of  'em,  an'  he  was  always  sayin'  that  if  he  died  his  ghost 
would  come  back  an'  ha'nt  the  Stanhopes.  Yes,  he  said 
that  once  in  my  own  hearin'. 

"  One  night,  two  years  after  Roger  Stanhope  died,  old 


APPRAISING  THE  NEW  TEACHER  47 

Scroggie  got  drunk  an'  would  have  froze  to  death  if 
Frank  hadn't  found  him  an'  carried  him  into  his  own 
home.  Scroggie  cursed  Frank  fer  it  when  he  came 
round  but  Frank  paid  no  attention  to  him.  After  that, 
Scroggie  —  who  was  too  sick  to  be  moved— -got  to  takin' 
long  spells  of  quiet.  He  would  jest  set  still  an'  watch 
Frank  nights  when  the  two  was  alone  together. 

"  After  a  while  the  old  man  got  strong  enough  to  go 
home.  Soon  after  that  he  disappeared  an'  stayed  away 
fer  nearly  three  weeks.  Then,  all  at  once,  he  turned  up  at 
home  ag'in.  He  came  over  to  Stanhope's  house  every  now 
an'  ag'in  to  visit  with  him.  One  night  he  says  to  Frank 
after  they  had  had  supper:  '  Frank,'  says  he,  '  I've  been 
over  to  Cleveland  an'  IVo  made  my  will.  I've  left  you 
every  thin'  I  own.  You're  the  only  decent  person  I've 
known  since  I  lost  my  ol'  mother.  I  want  that  thousand 
acre  woods  to  stand  jest  as  God  made  it  as  long  as  I'm 
alive ;  when  I  die  you  kin  do  what  you  like  with  it. '  Then 
afore  Frank  could  even  thank  him  the  old  man  got  up  an* 
hobbled  out. 

"  Next  mornin ',"  continued  Cobin,  "  Frank  went  over 
to  see  old  Scroggie.  He  wanted  to  hear  him  say  what  he* 
told  him  the  night  afore,  ag'in.  It  was  gettin'  along 
towards  spring;  the  day  was  warm  an'  smelled  of  maple 
sap.  Scroggie 's  cabin  door  was  standin'  ajar,  Frank  says.  • 
The  ol'  man  was  sittin'  in  his  chair,  a  Bible  upside  down 
on  his  knees.  He  was  dead! 

"  Frank  told  Mr.  Reddick,  the  preacher  who  came  to 
bury  old  Scroggie,  all  that  had  passed  between  him  an' 
the  dead  man  but  although  they  hunted  high  an'  low  fer 
the  will,  they  never  found  it.  Nor  did  they  find  any  of 
the  money  the  ol'  miser  must  have  left  behind  —  not  a 
solitary  cent.  That  was  over  a  year  ago,  an'  they  haven't 


48  A  SON  OF  COUEAGE 

found  money  or  will  yet.  But  this  goes  to  show  what  a 
real  feller  Frank  Stanhope  is.  He  put  a  fine  grave  stone 
up  for  ol'  Scroggie  an'  had  his  name  engraved  on  it.  Yes 
he  done  that,  an'  all  he  ever  got  from  the  dead  man  was 
his  curses. 

"  Well,  soon  after  they  put  old  Scroggie  under  the  sod, 
along  comes  a  nephew  of  the  dead  man.  No  doubt  in  the 
world  he  was  Scroggie 's  nephew.  He  looked  like  him,  an* 
besides  he  had  the  papers  to  prove  his  claim  that  he  was 
the  dead  man's  only  livin'  relative.  An'  as  Scroggie 
hadn't  left  no  will,  this  man  was  rightful  heir  to  what  he 
had  left  behin',  'cordin'  to  law.  He  spent  a  week  er  two 
prowlin'  round,  huntin'  fer  the  dead  man's  buried  money. 
At  last  he  got  disgusted  huntin'  an'  findin'  nuthin'  an' 
went  away." 

"  And  he  left  no  address  behind?  "  questioned  Mr. 
Johnston. 

"  He  surely  did  not,"  answered  Cobin.  "  Nobody 
knows  where  he  went —  nor  cares.  But  nobody  can  do 
any  thin'  with  that  timber  without  his  sayso.  It's  a  year 
or  more  since  ol'  Scroggie  died.  People  do  say  that  his 
ghost  floats  about  the  old  cabin,  at  nights,  but  of  course 
that  can't  be,  sir." 

' '  Superstitious  nonsense, ' '  scoffed  the  teacher.  ' '  And  so 
the  will  was  never  found?  " 

"  No,  er  the  buried  money,"  sighed  Cobin. 

Mr.  Johnston  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table. 
"  Thank  you  exceedingly,  Mr.  Keeler.  I  have  enjoyed 
your  breakfast  and  your  conversation  very  much  indeed. 
Madam,"  he  said,  rising  and  turning  to  Mrs.  Keeler, 
"  permit  me  to  extend  to  you  my  heartfelt  gratitude  for 
your  share  in  the  splendid  hospitality  that  has  been 
accorded  me.  I  hope  to  see  you  again,  some  day." 


APPRAISING  THE  NEW  TEACHER  49 

"  Certainly,"  returned  Mrs.  Keeler,  "  Cobin!  Maurice! 
kneel  down  beside  your  chairs.  The  teacher  wants  to 
pray." 

Mr.  Johnston  frowned,  then  observing  his  host  and 
hostess  fall  to  their  knees,  he  too  got  stiffly  down  beside 
his  chair.  He  prayed  long  and  fervently  and  ended  by 
asking  God  to  help  him  lead  these  people  from  the  shadow 
into  enlightenment. 

It  was  during  that  prayer  that  Maurice,  chancing  to 
glance  at  the  window,  saw  Billy  Wilson's  pet  crow,  Croaker, 
peering  in  at  him  with  black  eyes.  Now,  as  Croaker  often, 
acted  as  carrier  between  the  boys,  his  presence  meant  only 
one  thing  —  Billy  had  sent  him  some  message.  Cautiously 
Maurice  got  down  on  all  fours  and  crept  toward  the  door. 

"  Now  teacher,"  said  Keeler,  the  prayer  over,  "  you  jest 
set  still,  an'  111  send  Maurice  out  after  your  horse." 

He  glanced  around  in  search  of  the  boy.  "  Why,  bless 
my  soul,  he's  gone!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There^s  a  youngster 
you'll  need  to  watch  close,  teacher,"  he  said  grimly. 

"  Well  sir,  you  jest  rest  easy  an'  I'll  get  your  horse 
myself." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MESSAGE  CROAKER  BROUGHT 

"  Missus  Wilson,  where 's  Billy?  " 

Mrs.  Wilson  turned  to  the  door,  wiped  her  red  face  on 
her  apron,  and  finished  emptying  a  pan  of  hot  cookies  into 
the  stone  crock,  before  answering,  sternly: 

"  He's  down  to  the  far  medder,  watchin'  the  gap, 
Maurice.  Don't  you  go  near  him." 

"  No  ma'am,  I  won't.  Jest  wondered  where  he  was, 
that's  all." 

"  I  'low  you're  tryin'  to  coax  him  away  fishin'  er  some- 
thin'." 

"  Oh,  no  ma'am.  I  gotta  get  right  back  home  to  Ma. 
She's  not  very  well,  an'  she'll  be  needin'  me." 

' '  Fer  land  sakes !  you  don 't  say  so,  Maurice.  Is  she 
very  bad?  "  The  tones  were  sympathetic  now.  Maurice 
nodded,  and  glanced  longingly  at  the  fresh  batch  of  brown 
cookies. 

"  She  was  carryin'  the  big  meat-platter  on  her  arm  an' 
she  fell  with  her  arm  under  her — an'  broke  it." 

"Lord  love  us!  "  Mrs.  Wilson  started  to  undo  her 
apron.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before,  you  freckle- 
faced  jackass,  you!  Lord  knows  what  use  you  boys  are 
anyways!  Think  of  you,  hangin'  'round  here  askin'  fer 
Billy  and  your  poor  Ma  at  home  groanin'  in  pain  an* 
needin'  help.  Ain't  you  'shamed  of  yourself?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  admitted  Maurice  cheerfully.  "  I  guess 
I  should 'a  told  you  first  off  but  Ma  she  said  if  you  was 
busy  not  to  say  anythin'  *bout  her  breakin'  it." 

50 


THE  MESSAGE  CROAKER  BROUGHT    51 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  that.  No  neighbor  in  this  here 
settlement  is  ever  goin'  to  say  that  Mary  Wilson  ever 
turned  her  back  on  a  f  eller-bein 's  distress.  I'll  go  right 
over  to  your  place  with  you  now,  Maurice.  Come  along." 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  outside,  by  this  time,  and  tying  on  her 
sun-bonnet.  Maurice  held  back.  She  grasped  his  arm  and 
hustled  him  down  the  walk. 

"  Is  it  broke  bad,  Maurice?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

Maurice,  peering  about  among  the  trees,  answered 
absently. 

"  Yes  ma'am.  I  guess  shell  never  be  able  to  use  it 
ag'in." 

"  Oh  pity  sake!     Let's  hurry." 

Maurice  was  compelled  to  quicken  his  steps  in  order  to 
keep  up  to  the  long  strides  of  the  anxious  woman.  Sud- 
denly he  halted.  "  Missis  Wilson,"  he  said,  "  you  f  ergot 
to  take  that  last  pan  o'  cookies  out 'a  the  oven." 

The  woman  raised  her  hands  in  consternation. 

"  So  I  did,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  stay  right  here  an' 
I'll  go  back  and  take  it  out  now." 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Maurice  quickly.  "  I  know  jest  how 
to  do  it  an*  kin  get  through  in  less'n  half  the  time  it  11 
take  you." 

"  Well,  run  along  then.  I  best  keep  right  on.  Your 
poor  Ma  11  be-needin'  me." 

Maurice  was  off  like  a  shot.  As  he  rounded  the  house 
on  a  lope  he  ran  into  Billy,  coming  from  the  opposite 
direction.  Billy's  cotton  blouse  was  bulging.  In  one  hand 
he  carried  the  smoking  bake-pan,  in  the  other  a  fat  cookie 
deeply  scalloped  on  one  side. 

"  Where  you  goin'  so  fast,  Maurice?  "  he  accosted,  his 
mouth  full. 

Maurice  glanced  fearfully  over  his  shoulder.     "  Hush, 


52  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

BilL  If  your  Ma  happens  to  come  back  here  it'll  go  bad 
with  me.'* 

Billy  held  out  the  pan  to  his  chum  and  waited  until 
Maurice  had  filled  his  pockets.  Then  he  asked:  "  Where's 
she  gone!  " 

"  Over  to  our  place.  I  told  her  about  Ma  fallin'  an' 
breakin'  the  meat-platter,  an'  I  guess  she  misunderstood. 
She  tried  to  take  me  along  with  her.  I  had  an  awful  time 
to  get  'way  from  her. ' ' 

Billy  laughed.  "  Gee!  Ma's  like  that  Nobody  gets 
'way  from  her  very  easy.  Here,  fill  your  shirt  with  the 
rest  o'  theaie  cookies,  an  I'll  take  the  pan  back;  then  we'll 
be  goin'." 

"  Pish  ought 'a  bite  fine  today,"  said  Maurice  as  he 
stowed  the  cookies  away  in  his  bosom. 

"  You  bet.  The  wind's  south.  Have  you  got  the 
worms  dug?  " 

"  Yep.  They're  in  a  can  in  my  pocket.  Did  Croaker 
come  back?  "  he  inquired,  as  the  two  made  their  way  down 
the  path. 

"  Sure  he  came  back.  He's  a  wise  crow,  that  Croaker, 
an',  Oh  gosh!  don't  he  hate  Ma,  though!  He  gets  up  in 
a  tree  out  o'  reach  of  her  broom,  an'  jest  don't  he  call  her 
names  in  erow  talk?  Ma  says  she'll  kill  him  if  ever  she 
gets  close  enough  to  him  an'  she  will,  too." 

"  Well  sir,  I  nigh  died  when  I  seen  him  settin'  on  our 
winder-sill,"  laughed  Maurice.  "  We  was  havin'  mornin' 
prayer;  the  new  teacher  was  at  our  place  an'  he  was 
prayin'.  Croaker  strutted  up  an'  down  the  sill,  peerin' 
in  an'  openin'  an'  shuttin'  his  mouth  bke  he  was  callin* 
that  old  hawk-faced  teacher  every  name  he  could  think 
of.  I  saw  he  had  a  paper  tied  'round  his  neck  so  I  crawled 
on  my  hands  an'  knees  past  Ma,  an*  slipped  out.  If  Ma 


THE  MESSAGE  CROAKER  BROUGHT 


53 


hadn't  been  so  deef,  she'd  have  heard  me  an'  nabbed  me 
sure." 

Billy  chuckled.  "  Then  you  got  my  message  off  of 
Croaker,  Maurice?  " 

"Yep;  but  by  jinks!  I  had  a  awful  time  guessin' 
what  you  meant  by  them  marks  you  made  on  the  paper. 
Darn  it  all,-  Bill,  why  can 't  you  write  what  you  want  'a 
say,  instead  of  makin'  marks  that  nobody  kin  understand  " 

"  There  you  go,  ag'in,"  cried  Billy.  "  How  many  times 
have  I  gotta  tell  you,  Maurice,  that  Trigger  Finger  Tim 


never  used  writin'.  He  used  symbols  —  that's  what  he 
used.  Do  you  know  what  a  symbol  is,  you  poor  block- 
head? " 

"  I  should  say  I  do.  It's  a  brass  cap  what  women  use 
to  keep  the  needle  from  runnin'  under  their  finger-nail." 

"Naw,  Maurice.  A  symbol  is  a  mark  what  means  some- 
thin  '.  Have  you  got  that  message  I  sent  you  ?  Well,  give 
it  here  an'  111  show  you.  Now  then,  you  see  them  two 
marks  standin'  up  longside  each  other?  " 

"Yep." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  they  stand  fer?  " 

"  I  thought  maybe  you  meant  'em  fer  a  couple  of  trees, 
BUI." 


54  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Well  I  didn't.  Them  two  ai<*rks  are  symbols,  signifyin' 
a  gap." 

"A  gap?    HullyGee!" 

"  Yep,  an'  this  here  animal  settin'  in  that  gap,  what 
you  think  it  is?" 

Maurice  shook  his  head.  "  It's  maybe  a  cow?  "  he 
guessed  hopefully. 

"  Nope,  it's  a  dog.  Now  then,  you  see  these  two  boys 
runnin'  away  from  the  gap?  " 

"  Gosh,  is  that  what  they  be,  Bill?    Yep,  I  see  'em." 

"  Well,  that's  me  an'  you.  Now  then,  what  you  s'pose 
I  meant  by  them  symbols  ?  I  meant  this.  I've  gotta  watch 
gap.  Fetch  your  dog  over  an'  we'll  set  him  to  watch  it, 
an'  we'll  skin  out  an'  go  fishin'." 

Maurice  whistled.  "Well  111  be  jiggered!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  I  wish't  I'd  knowed  that.  Say,  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  sneak  up  through  the  woods  an'  whistle 
Joe  over  here  now." 

"  No,  never  mind.  I  bribed  Anse  to  watch  that  gap 
fer  me." 

"  What  did  you  have  t'  give  him?  " 

"  Nuthin'.  Promised  I  wouldn't  tell  him  no  ghost 
stories  fer  a  week  if  he'd  help  me  out." 

They  had  topped  a  wooded  hill  and  were  descending 
into  a  wide  green  valley,  studded  with  clumps  of  red 
willows  and  sloping  towards  a  winding  stretch  of  pale 
green  rushes  through  which  the  white  face  of  the  creek 
flashed  as  though  in  a  smile  of  welcome.  Red  winged 
blackbirds  clarioned  shrilly  from  rush  and  cat-tail.  A 
brown  bittern  rose  solemnly  and  made  across  the  marsh 
in  ungainly  flight.  A  blue  crane,  frogging  in  the  shallows, 
pp.used  in  its  task  with  long  neck  stretched,  then  got 
slowly  to  wing,  long  pipe-stem  legs  thrust  straight  out 


THE  MESSAGE  CROAKER  BROUGHT    55 

behind.  A  pair  of  nesting  black  ducks  arose  with  soft 
quacks  and  drifted  up  and  out,  bayward. 

Billy,  who  stood  still  to  watch  them,  was  recalled  sud- 
denly to  earth  by  his  companion's  voice. 

"  Bill,  our  punt's  gone!  " 

With  a  bound,  Billy  was  beside  him,  and  peering  through 
the  rushes  into  the  tiny  bay  in  which  they  kept  their  boat. 

' '  Well,  Gee  whitticker !  "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  Who  do  you 
s 'pose  had  the  nerve  to  take  it?  " 

Maurice  shook  his  head.  "  None  of  our  gang  'ud  take 
it,"  he  said.  "  Likely  some  of  them  Sand-sharks." 

"  That's  so,"  Billy  broke  off  a  marsh-flag  and  champed 
it  in  his  teeth. 

Maurice  was  climbing  a  tall  poplar  standing  on  the  bank 
of  the  creek.  * '  I  say,  Billy, ' '  he  cried  excitedly.  ' '  There 
she  is,  jest  'round  the  bend.  They've  beached  her  in  that 
piece  of  woods.  It's  Joe  LaRose  an'  Art  Shipley  that  took 
her,  111  bet  a  cookie.  They're  always  goin'  'cross  there 
to  hunt  fer  turtle's  eggs." 

"  Then  come  on!  "  shouted  Billy. 

"  Where  to?  " 

"  Down  opposite  the  punt.  I'm  goin'  t'  strip  an'  swim 
across  after  her." 

Maurice  dropped  like  a  squirrel  from  the  poplar.  "An' 
leave  them  boat  thieves  stranded  ?  "  he  panted.  ' '  Oh  gosh ! 
but  won 't  that  serve  'em  right ! ' ' 

"  Let's  hustle,"  urged  Billy.  "  They  may  come  back 
any  minute." 

They  ran  quickly  up  the  valley,  Billy  unfastening  his 
few  garments  as  they  ran.  By  the  time  Billy  had  reached 
the  bend  he  was  in  readiness  for  the  swim  across.  With- 
out a  thought  of  the  long  leeches  —  "blood-suckers"  the 
boys  called  them  —  which  lay  on  the  oozy  bottom  of  the 


56  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

creek's  shallows  ready  to  fasten  on  the  first  bare  foot  that 
came  their  way,  he  waded  out  toward  the  channel. 

"  Bill,  watch  out!  "  warned  Maurice.  "  There's  a  big 
womper  coiled  on  that  lily-root.  You're  makin*  right 
fer  it." 

"  I  see  it,"  returned  Billy.  "I  guess  I  ain't  scared  of 
no  snakes  in  these  parts." 

"  But  this  beggar  is  coiled,"  cried  his  friend.  "  If  he 
strikes  you,  he'll  rip  you  wide  open  with  his  horny  nose. 
Don't  go,  BUI." 

"  Bah!  he's  uneoilin',  Maurice;  he'll  slip  off,  see  if  he 
don't.  There,  what  did  I  tell  you?  "  as  the  long  mottled 
snake  slid  softly  into  the  water.  "  You  can't  tell  me  any- 
thin'  'bout  wompers." 

"  But  what  if  a  snappin '-turtle  should  get  hold  of  your 
toe?  "  shuddered  Maurice. 

"  Shut  up!  "  Billy  commanded.  "  Do  you  want  them 
Sand-sharks  to  hear  you?  You  keep  still  now,  I'm  goin' 
after  our  punt." 

Billy  was  out  in  mid  stream  now,  swimming  with  swift, 
noiseless  strokes  toward  the  boat.  Just  as  he  reached  it 
the  willows  along  shore  parted  and  two  boys,  both  larger 
than  himself,  made  a  leap  for  the  punt.  Billy  threw  him- 
self into  the  boat  and  as  the  taller  of  the  two  jumped  for 
it  his  fist  shot  out  and  caught  him  fairly  on  the  jaw.  He 
toppled  back  half  into  the  water.  Billy  seized  the  paddle 
and  swung  it  back  over  his  shoulder.  The  other  boy  halted 
in  his  tracks.  Another  moment  and  the  punt  was  floating 
out  in  midstream. 

LaKose  had  crawled  to  shore  and  sat  dripping  and 
sniffling  on  the  bank. 

"  Now,  maybe  the  next  time  you  boat-thieves  find  a 
pnnt  you  11  think  twice  afore  you  take  it,"  shouted  Billy. 


THE  MESSAGE  CROAKER  BROUGHT    57 

"  How 're  we  goin'  to  get  back  'cross  the  crick?  " 
whined  the  vanquished  LaRose. 

"  Swim  it,  same's  I  did,"  Billy  called  back. 

"But  the  snakes  an'  turtles!"  wailed  the  marooned 
pair. 

"  You  gotta  take  a  chance.  I  took  one."  Billy  urged 
the  punt  forward  across  the  creek  to  where  the  grinning 
and  highly  delighted  Maurice  waited. 

"  Jump  in  here,  an*  let's  get  fishin'." 

Maurice  lost  no  time.    "  Where '11  we  go,  Bill?  " 

"Up  to  the  mouth.  There's  green  bass  up  there  an' 
lots  of  email  frogs,  if  we  need  'em,  fer  bait" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  WILDERNESS  MERCHANT 

Caleb  Spencer,  proprietor  of  the  Twin  Oaks  store,  paused 
at  his  garden  gate  to  light  his  corncob  pipe.  The  next 
three  hours  would  be  his  busy  time.  The  farmers  of  Scotia 
would  come  driving  in  for  their  mail  and  to  make  neces- 
sary purchases  of  his  wares.  His  pipe  alight  to  his  satis- 
faction, Caleb  crossed  the  road,  then  stood  still  in  his  tracks 
to  fasten  his  admiring  gazo  on  the  rambling,  unpainted 
building  which  was  his  pride  and  joy.  He  had  built  that 
store  himself.  With  indefatigable  pains  and  patience  he 
had  fashioned  it  to  suit  his  mind.  Every  evening,  just  at 
this  after-supper  hour,  he  stood  still  for  a  time  to  admire 
it,  as  he  was  doing  now. 

Having  quaffed  his  customary  draught  of  delight  from 
the  picture  before  him  Caleb  resumed  his  walk  to  the  store, 
pausing  at  its  door  to  straighten  into  place  the  long  bench 
kept  there  for  the  accommodation  of  visiting  customers. 
As  he  swung  the  bench  against  the  wall  he  bent  and  peered 
closely  at  two  sets  of  newly-carved  initials  on  its  smooth 
surface. 

"  W.  W."  he  read,  and  frowned.  "  By  ding!  That's 
that  Billy  W;lson.  Now  let's  see,  '  A.  S.'  I  wonder  who 
them  initials  stand  fer  ?  "  With  a  shake  of  his  grizzled  mop 
he  entered  the  store. 

A  slim  girl  in  a  gingham  dress  stood  in  front  of  the 
counter  placing  parcels  in  a  basket.  She  turned  a  flushed 
face,  lit  with  brown  roguish  eyes,  on  Caleb,  as  he  came  in. 

"  Had  your  supper,  Pa?  "  she  asked. 

58 


A  WILDERNESS  MERCHANT  59 

"  Yep."    Caleb  bent  and  scrutinized  the  basket. 

"  Whose  parcels  are  them,  Ann?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Mrs.  Keeler's,"  his  daughter  answered.  "  Billy  Wil- 
son left  the  order." 

"  Hump,  he  did,  eh?  Well,  let's  see  the  slip."  He 
took  the  piece  of  paper  from  the  counter  and  read: 

One  box  fruit-crackers. 

10  pounds  granulated  sugar. 

Two  pounds  cheese. 

1  pound  raisins. 

1  pound  lemon  peel. 

4  cans  salmon. 

50  sticks  hoarhound  candy. 

There  were  other  items  but  Caleb  read  no  further.  He 
stood  back  sucking  the  stem  of  his  pipe  thoughtfully. 
"  Whereabouts  did  that  Billy  go,  Ann?  "  he  asked  at 
length. 

"  Why,  he  didn't  go.  He's  in  the  liquor-shop  settin'  a 
trap  for  that  rat,  Pa. ' ' 

"  Oh  he  is,  eh?  Well,  tell  him  to  come  out  here;  I  want 
to  see  him." 

Caleb  waited  until  his  daughter  turned  to  execute  his 
order,  then  the  frown  melted  from  his  face  and  a  wide 
grin  took  its  place.  "  The  young  reprobate,"  he  muttered. 
"  What '11  that  boy  be  up  to  next,  I  wonder?  I've  got  t' 
teach  him  a  lesson,  ding  me !  if  I  haven't.  It's  clear  enough 
t'  me  that  him  and  that  young  Keeler  are  shapin*  fer  a 
little  excursion,  up  bush,  and  this  is  the  way  they  take 
to  get  their  fodder." 

He  turned  slowly  as  his  daughter  and  Billy  entered  from 
the  rear  of  the  shop  and  let  his  eyes  rest  on  the  boy's 
face.  "  How  are  you,  Billy?  "  he  asked  genially. 


60  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"I'm  well,  thanks,"  and  Billy  gazed  innocently  back 
into  Caleb's  eyes.  "  I  hope  your  rheumatiz  is  better,  Mr. 
Spencer. ' ' 

"  It  is,"  said  Caleb  shortly,  "  and  my  eyes  are  gettin' 
sharper  every  day,  Billy." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Billy  and  bent  to  pick  up  the 
basket. 

"  Jest  a  minute,  young  man."  Caleb's  voice  was  stern. 
"I  see  you've  cut  your  own  and  your  best  gal's  initials 
onto  my  new  bench.  Did  you  have  much  trouble  doin'  it, 
might  I  ask?" 

Billy  stood  up,  a  grin  on  his  face.  "  That  pine  bench 
looked  so  invitin'  I  jest  couldn't  help  tryin'  my  new  knife 
on  it,"  he  explained.  "  But  I  didn't  s'pose  fer  a  minute 
that  you'd  mind." 

"  Well,  by  ding!  I  don't  know  but  what  I  do  mind. 
What  if  you  should  take  a  notion,  some  day,  to  carve  up 
the  side  of  this  buildin',  hey?  " 

Billy  grew  thoughtful.    "  I  hadn't  thought  o'  that,"  he 
said  slowly.    "  It's  pine,  too,  ain't  it?    It  'ud  carve  fine." 
Caleb  turned  quickly  towards  a  pile  of  goods,  behind 
which  an  audible  titter  had  sounded. 

"  Ann,"  he  commanded,  "  you  run  along  and  get  your 
supper." 

He  waited  until  his  daughter  had  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  ' '  Now  Billy, ' '  he  said,  sternly, ' '  understan '  me  when 
I  say  that  if  you  ever  so  much  as  lay  a  knife-blade  onto 
the  walls  of  this  here  store  I'll  jest  naturally  pinch  the 
freckles  off'n  your  nose,  one  by  one.  Hear  that?  " 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  heed  it,  and  heed  it  close.  Ill  overlook  the 
cuttin'  of  my  new  bench,  but,  by  ding!  I'd  ruther  you'd 
carve  me  than  carve  this  store."  He  paused  abruptly  and 


•      A  WILDERNESS  MERCHANT  61 

bent  on  Billy  a  quizzical  look.  "Whose  'nitials  are  them 
under  yourn?  "  he  asked. 

Billy  started.  "Oh  gosh!  I  dunno,  Mr.  Spencer;  I  jest 
cut  the  first  ones  come  into  my  head." 

"  Umph!  I'm  not  so  green  as  I  look.  I  know  whose 
they  be.  They're  Ann's." 

Billy  was  silent.  Should  he  tell  the  truth  and  say  that 
he  had  carved  Ann's  initials  on  the  bench  and  those  of 
Walter  Watland  beneath  them  at  that  young  lady's  plead- 
ing request?  No! 

"  Well?  "  Caleb  asked  finally.    "  What  about  it?  " 

Billy  drew  himself  up  and  lied  like  a  gentleman.  "  I 
guess  that's  all  there  is  about  it,"  he  said  with  dignity. 
"  Ann's  my  girl,  an'  she  said  I  could  cut  my  'nitials  under 
hers  if  I  wanted  to  take  the  chance." 

"  Oh,  so  she's  your  gal,  is  she?  "  Caleb  thrust  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets,  striving  hard  to  keep  his  face  stern. 
"  How  long  you  and  Ann  been  sweetheartin '  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Five  er  six  years;  maybe  longer." 

' '  Loramighty ! ' '  Caleb  sank  weakly  on  a  pile  of  horse- 
blankets,  and  gasped.  ' '  But,  Billy,  she 's  only  twelve  now, 
and  you  —  you  can't  be  much  more'n  fourteen  at  most." 

"I'm  growin'  fifteen,"  said  Billy  gravely.  "Me  an' 
Ann's  been  goin'  together  fer  quite  a  long  spell." 

Caleb  placed  his  empty  pipe  in  one  pocket,  fished  in 
another  and  drew  out  a  plug  of  Radiant  Star  chewing 
tobacco.  He  took  a  generous  bite  from  one  corner  of  the 
plug  and  champed  it  meditatively. 

"  Well,  Billy,"  he  said  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"  seein's  we're  to  be  right  close  related,  some  day,  I  guess 
it's  up  to  me  to  give  you  your  supper.  You  go  right  along 
over  to  the  house  and  eat  with  Ann." 

' '  But  I  'm  not  hungry,  Mr.  STpencer, ' '  said  Billy  quickly. 


62  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  That  don't  make  no  difference;  you  go  along.  I  see 
Ann's  made  a  mistake  in  doin'  up  Mrs.  Keeler's  parcels. 
You  can't  go  back  for  a  bit,  anyways,  so  you  might  as  well 
have  your  supper." 

Billy  went  out  and  Spencer  watched  him  cross  the  road 
and  enter  the  cottage.  "  Well,  now,"  he  chuckled,  "  ain't 
that  boy  a  tartar  ?  But, ' '  he  added,  "  he 's  got  to  be  slicker 
than  he  is  to  fool  old  Caleb.  Now,  you  jest  watch  me." 

He  lifted  the  basket  to  the  counter  and,  taking  the 
parcels  from  it,  carefully  emptied  their  contents  back  into 
the  drawers  from  which  they  had  been  filled.  Then  from 
beneath  the  counter  he  drew  out  a  box  and  with  exquisite 
pains  filled  each  of  the  empty  bags  and  the  cracker-box 
with  sawdust.  He  tied  the  bags,  packed  them  in  the  basket, 
tucked  a  roll  of  tea  lead  in  the  bottom,  to  give  the  basket 
weight,  and  placed  it  on  the  counter.  Then  he  went  out- 
side to  sit  on  the  bench  and  await  Billy's  return. 

Caleb  had  come  to  Scotia  Settlement  when  it  was  little 
more  than  a  bald  spot  on  the  pate  of  the  hardwoods. 
Gypsy-like  he  had  strayed  into  the  settlement  and,  to  use 
his  own  vernacular,  had  pitched  his  wigwam  to  stay.  One 
month  later  a  snug  log  cabin  stood  on  the  wooded  hillside 
overlooking  the  valley,  and  the  sound  of  Caleb's  axe  could 
be  heard  all  day  long,  as  he  cleared  a  garden  spot  in  the 
forest.  That  forest  ran  almost  to  the  white  sands  of  Lake 
Erie,  pausing  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  its  shore  as  though 
fearing  to  advance  further.  On  this  narrow  strip  of  land 
the  pines  and  cedars  had  taken  their  stand,  as  if  in  defiance 
of  the  more  rugged  trees  of  the  upland.  They  grew  close 
together  in  thickets  so  dense  that  beneath  them,  even  on 
the  brightest  day,  blue-white  twilight  rested  always.  Run- 
ning westward,  these  coniferous  trees  grew  bolder  and 
widened  so  as  to  almost  cover  the  broad  finger-like  point 


A  WILDERNESS  MERCHANT  63 

of  land  which  separated  Rond  Eau  Bay  from  Lake  Erie, 
and  thither  many  of  the  wild  things  crept,  as  civilization 
advanced  to  claim  their  old  roaming  grounds.  The  point, 
known  as  Point  Aux  Pines,  was  ten  miles  long,  affording 
abundance  of  food  and  perfect  shelter. 

But  on  the  uplands  the  forests  grew  sparser  as  the  axes 
of  rugged  homesteaders,  who  had  followed  in  the  footsteps 
of  Caleb  Spencer,  bit  home.  Gradually  farms  were  cleared, 
rough  stumpy  fields  the  tilling  of  which  tested  the  hearts 
of  the  strongest,  but  whose  rich  soil  gladdened  even  the 
most  weary.  A  saw  mill  was  erected  on  the  banks  of  a 
stream  known  as  Levee  Creek.  Gradually  the  rough  log 
cabins  of  the  settlers  were  torn  down  to  be  replaced  by 
more  modern  houses  of  lumber. 

And  then  Caleb  Spencer  had  built  his  store  and  with 
far-seeing  judgment  had  stocked  it  with  nearly  every 
variety  of  goods  a  growing  community  needs.  Drygoods, 
Groceries,  Hardware  &  Liquors!  These  comprehensive 
words,  painted  on  a  huge  sign,  stared  out  at  all  who  passed 
along  the  road  and  in  still  more  glaring  letters  beneath 
was  the  announcement,  "  Caleb  Spencer,  Proprietor." 

Everybody  likcx  Caleb.  Even  old  man  Scroggie  had 
been  fond  of  him,  whicu.  "•=  saying  a  great  deal.  It  was 
said  the  old  miser  even  trusted  the  gaunt  storekeeper  to  a 
certain  degree.  At  any  rate  it  was  commonly  known  that 
shortly  before  he  died  Scroggie  had  given  into  Spencer's 
keeping,  to  be  locked  away  in  his  rusty  old  store  safe,  a 
certain  legal-looking  document.  Deacon  Ringold  and  Cobin 
Keeler  had  witnessed  the  transaction.  Accordingly,  after 
Scroggie  was  buried  and  a  search  for  the  will  failed  to  dis- 
close it,  it  was  perhaps  natural  that  a  delegation  of  neigh- 
bors should  wait  on  Caleb  and  question  him  concerning 
the  paper  which  the  deceased  man  had  given  him.  To 


64  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

everybody's  surprise  Caleb  had  flared  up  and  told  the  dele- 
gation that  the  paper  in  question  was  the  consummation  of 
a  private  matter  between  himself  and  the  dead  man,  and 
that  he  didn't  have  to  show  it  and  didn't  intend  to  show  it. 

Of  course  that  settled  it.  The  delegation  apologized,  and 
Caleb  tapped  a  keg  of  cider  and  opened  a  box  of  choice 
biscuits  just  to  show  that  there  were  no  hard  feelings. 
Now  this  in  itself  was  surely  indisputable  proof  of  the 
confidence  his  neighbors  reposed  in  Caleb's  veracity  and 
honesty,  but  considering  the  fact  that  Caleb  had  once 
quarrelled  with  the  elder  Stanhope,  later  refusing  all  over- 
tures of  friendship  from  the  latter,  and  had  even  gone  so 
far  as  to  cherish  the  same  feeling  of  animosity  toward  the 
son,  Frank,  that  trust  was  little  short  of  sublime.  For, 
providing  Caleb  disliked  Frank  Stanhope  —  and  he  did 
and  made  no  attempt  to  hide  it  —  what  would  be  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  keep  him  from  his  rightful 
inheritance  if  he  could? 

But  nobody  mistrusted  Caleb,  Frank  Stanhope  least  of 
all;  and  so,  for  the  time  being,  the  incident  of  the  legal 
document  was  forgotten. 

Tonight,  as  Caleb  sat  outside  on  the  bench  waiting  for 
the  first  evening  customers  to  arrive,  he  reviewed  the 
pleasant  years  of  his  life  in  this  restful  spot  and  was  satis- 
fied. Suddenly  he  sat  erect.  From  the  edge  of  a  walnut 
grove  on  the  far  side  of  the  road  came  a  low  warble,  sweet 
as  the  song  of  a  wild  bird,  but  with  a  minor  note  of  sad- 
ness in  its  lilting. 

"  That's  old  Harry  and  his  tin  whistle,"  muttered  Caleb, 
"  Glory  be!  but  can't  he  jest  make  that  thing  sing?  " 

Softly  the  last  note  died,  and  then  the  player  emerged 
from  the  grove.  He  was  little  and  bent.  He  wore  a  ragged 
suit  of  corduroys  and  a  battered  felt  hat  with  a  red  feather 


A  WILDERNESS  MERCHANT  65 

stuck  jauntily  in  its  band.  His  face  was  small,  dark,  and 
unshaven.  In  one  grimy  hand  he  carried  a  small  demijohn. 
Arriving  opposite  Caleb,  he  lifted  his  battered  hat  and 
bowed  low  as  a  courtier  would  do. 

"  Glory  be!  It's  find  ye  alone  I  do,"  he  spoke  in  rich 
Irish  brogue.  "It's  trill  ye  a  chune  I  did  from  the  copse, 
yonder,  so's  to  soften  the  hard  heart  of  ye,  Caleb.  It's 
dhry  I  am  as  a  last-year's  chip,  an'  me  little  jug  do  be 
pmin'  fer  a  refillin'." 

Caleb's  face  grew  stern.  "  I  told  you,  Harry  O'Dule, 
that  I  'd  give  you  no  more  liquor, ' '  he  replied. 

"  Faith,  maybe  ye  did.  But  last  night  it's  the  skies 
thimselves  said  'rain,'  an'  begorry!  there's  been  not  a 
sign  av  a  shower  t'day.  What  matters  ut  fer  the  fallin' 
av  an  idle  wurrud  now  and  thin?  It's  meself  knows  you're 
too  tinder  hearted  t'  refuse  a  small  favor  to  a  body  that 
feels  only  love  an'  respect  fer  yourself  an*  the  swate  ones 
who  wait  ye  in  the  flower-covered  cottage,  beyont." 

"  Stop  your  blarney,  Harry.  I  tell  you  I'll  give  you 
no  more  whisky,  and  by  ding !  that  goes !  " 

"  Thin  I'll  be  trudgin'  back  along  the  way,"  said 
O'Dule,  hopelessly.  "  But  afore  I  go,  111  be  liltin'  ye  a 
small  chune  that'll  mebee  make  ye  understand  somethin' 
av  a  sadness  yer  generosity  could  lessen.  Listen  thin!  " 

He  set  the  jug  down,  and  from  his  bosom  drew  forth  a 
tin  whistle.  For  a  minute  or  two  he  played  softly,  his 
eyes  on  Caleb's.  Then,  gradually,  his  eyes  closed  and  a 
rapt  expression  settled  upon  his  grimy  face  as  he  led  his 
listener  down  strange  by-paths  of  fancy. 

Suddenly,  Caleb  jumped  from  the  bench.  "  Stop,  Harry 
O'Dule!  "  he  entreated.  "  That  whistle  of  yours  would 
soften  the  heart  of  old  Nick  himself.  Do  you  want  to  set 
me  crazy,  man?  Come,  give  me  your  jug,  111  fill  it  this 


66  A  SON  0:?  COURAGE 

time.    But  remember,  never  ag  'in.    I  mean  that,  by  ding !  ' ' 

He  snatched  up  the  demijohn  and  went  into  the  store. 
Old  Harry  eat  down  on  the  bench  and  waited  until  he 
returned. 

"  It's  a  good  fri'nd  ye've  been  t*  me,  Caleb,"  he  said 
gratefully,  as  he  lifted  the  jug  and  held  it  between  his 
knees.  "  It's  do  widout  me  dhrink  I  cannot.  Ut  an'  me 
whistle  are  me  only  gleams  av  sunlight  in  the  gloom.  I'll 
be  after  takin'  a  little  flash  of  the  light  now,  if  ut's  no 
objection  ye  have,  for  ut's  long  dhry  I've  been."  He 
lifted  the  jug  and  took  a  long  draught  of  its  fiery  contents. 

"  I'll  be  movin'  now,"  he  said,  as  he  wiped  his  mouth 
on  a  tattered  sleeve.  "  God  kape  you  safe,  Caleb  Spencer, 
an'  may  yer  whisky-barrel  niver  run  dhry." 

And  placing  his  battered  hat  jauntily  on  his  scanty 
locks,  Harry  picked  up  his  jug  and  was  lost  amid  the 
shadows. 

Presently  Billy  Wilson  emerged  from  the  cottage, 
received  his  basket  from  Caleb,  and  trotted  off  toward  the 
Keeler  place. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  RUSE  THAT  FAILED 

Out  behind  the  wood-shed  Maurice  Keeler,  by  the  dim 
light  of  a  smoky  lantern,  was  splitting  kindling  for  the 
morning's  fire  when  something  clammy  and  twisting 
dropped  across  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Holy  Smoke!  Bill,  take  it  away!  "  he  yelled,  as  his 
chum's  laugh  fell  on  his  ears. 

"  Gosh!  you  ain't  got  no  nerve  a 'tall,  Maurice!  It's 
only  a  milk-snake.  I  picked  it  up  on  my  way  home  from 
the  store.  I'm  goin'  to  put  it  in  the  menagerie." 

Maurice  sat  down  weakly  on  a  block  and  wiped  his  face 
on  his  sleeve. 

"  Hang  it  all,  Bill!  "  he  complained,  "  what  do  you  see 
in  snakes  to  make  you  want 'a  handle  'em  so?  I'm  scared 
to  death  of  'em;  I  own  it." 

"  I  s 'pose  this  feUer  an'  ol'  Spotba  '11  fight  to  a  finish," 
said  Billy,  "  but  I  aim  to  keep  one  snake  of  each  kind,  so 
let  'em  scrap  it  out.  It  won't  hurt  that  old  womper  to  get 
a  good  drubbin'  anyway." 

He  held  the  newly  captured  snake  along  his  arm,  its 
head  resting  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  The  dim  light  was 
sufficiently  strong  for  Maurice  to  note  the  cold  gleam  in 
its  eyes,  and  he  shuddered.  "  Some  day  you'll  try  your 
monkey-shines  on  a  puff-adder  er  a  black-snake, "  he  prophe- 
sied, "an*  then  you'll  wish  you  hadn't  gone  clean  crazy." 

Billy  grinned  and  dropped  the  snake  into  his  jacket 
pocket.  "  I  brought  your  Ma's  groceries,"  he  said.  '  Is 
she  in  the  house?  " 

67 


68  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Yep;  she's  cannin*  thimble-berries.  Jest  wait  till  I 
get  an  armful  of  kindlin',  an'  I'll  go  in  with  you." 

Billy  put  the  basket  down  again.  "  Say,  what  did  she 
want  with  all  that  hoarhound  candy?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

Maurice  chuckled.  ' '  Why,  Missis  Spencer  told  her  what 
great  stuff  it  was  to  use  in  doin'  up  thimble-berries;  sorta 
takes  the  flat  taste  off  'em.  So  Ma,  she's  goin'  to  try  it." 

Billy  whistled.  "  But  fifty  sticks,  Maurice!  It's  almost 
more'n  shell  need,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  'Course  it's  a  lot  too  much.  S'pose  we  try  on'  get  hold 
of  some  of  it,  Bill?  " 

"  Suits  me,"  agreed  Billy,  "  but  jest  hew?  That's  tho 
question." 

Maurice  stopped  and  filled  his  arms  with  a  load  of 
kindling.  "  I  dunno  how,"  he  replied,  "  but  you  usually 
find  out  a  way  fer  everythin'.  What's  the  matter  with 
you  lettin'  on  you  lost  part  of  that  candy?  " 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "  No  good,  she'd  be  onto  us 
bigger 'n  a  barn.  Tell  you  what  we  might  do.  We  might 
take  bad  colds  an*  sorta  work  on  her  sympathies." 

"  Humph!  an'  be  kept  close  in  the  house  fer  a  week  er 
so,  an'  have  to  take  physic  an'  stuff.  No  good,  Bill!  " 

"  No,  ours  won't  be  them  kind  of  colds,"  Billy 
explained.  "  They'll  be  the  dry-cough,  consumption  kind, 
that  either  cure  up  quick  er  slow.  All  we  gotta  do  is  dig 
up  an  Injun  turnip  out  o*  the  bush  an'  nibble  it.  It'll 
pucker  our  throats  up  so  tight  we'll  be  hoarse  enough  to 
sing  baas  in  the  choir." 

Maurice  let  his  kindling  fall.  "  Gee!  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  I've  got  a  piece  of  Injun  turnip  in  my  pocket  right  now. 
Ain't  that  lucky!  " 

"  How'd  you  come  to  have  it?  " 

14  Dug  it  up  to  fool  Fatty  Watland  with.    Was  goin'  to 


THE  RUSE  THAT  FAILED  69 

tell  him  it  was  a  ground-nut.  I've  had  it  in  fer  him  ever 
since  he  shoved  me  off  the  bridge  into  the  creek." 

"  Let's  have  it." 

Billy  took  the  Indian  turnip  from  his  chum  and  with 
his  knife  scraped  off  a  portion  of  white,  pungent  pulp. 
"  Now  then,  put  this  on  the  back  of  your  tongue,  an'  leave 
it  there,"  he  directed. 

Maurice  grimaced  as  he  licked  the  bit  of  pulp  from  the 
knife  blade.  "  'Course  we  both  know  this  danged  thing  is 
pisin,"  he  said,  uncertainly.  "  Maybe  we're  fools,  Bill?  " 

"  There's  no  maybe  about  it,  far's  you're  concerned. 
Do  as  I  tell  you;  slide  it  'way  back  so's  it'll  tighten  your 
throat.  That's  right,"  as  Maurice  heroically  obeyed. 
"  Now,  let's  get  up  to  the  house." 

"  But  you  haven't  took  yourn!  "  cried  Maurice. 

"  Don't  need  to  take  mine,"  Billy  informed  him. 
"  What's  the  use  of  me  takin'  any;  ain't  one  bad  cough 
enough?  " 

Maurice  squirmed  in  torture.  Already  the  burning  wild 
turnip  was  getting  in  its  work.  His  throat  felt  as  though 
it  were  filled  with  porcupine  quills.  He  tried  to  voice  a 
protest  against  the  injustice  Billy  had  done  him  but  it 
ended  in  a  wheeze. 

"  Pine,"  commended  Billy.  "  A  cold  like  that  oughta 
be  good  fer  half  the  hoarhound,  anyway.  Let 's  go  in  afore 
the  thing  wears  off.  You  take  the  basket,  I'll  carry  the 
kindlin'  fer  you." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  house,  Maurice  following  meekly 
with  the  market-basket,  eyes  running  tears  and  throat 
burning. 

Mrs.  Keeler  was  bending  over  a  kettle  on  the  stove,  from 
which  the  aroma  of  wild  thimble-berries  came  in  fragrant 
puffs. 


70  A  SON  OP  COURAGE 

"  So  you're  back  at  last,  are  you?  "  she  addressed  Billy, 
crossly.  "  Thought  you'd  never  come.  I've  been  waitin' 
on  that  sugar  an'  stuff  fer  two  hours  er  more.  Now,  you 
go  into  the  pantry  and  get  somethin'  to  eat,  while  I  unpack 
this  basket.  I  know  you  must  be  nigh  starved." 

"  Had  my  supper,"  shouted  Billy.  He  threw  the 
kindling  into  the  wood  box  and  grinned  encouragement  at 
Maurice,  who  had  sunk  miserably  down  on  a  stool. 

Mrs.  Keeler  lifted  the  basket  which  Maurice  had  placed 
on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  "  What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 
she  asked,  giving  him  a  shake. 

Maurice  looked  up  at  her  with  tear-filled  eyes,  and  tried 
to  say  something.  The  effort  was  vain ;  not  a  sound  issued 
from  his  swollen  lips.  Billy  promptly  advanced  to  give 
first  aid. 

"  Maurice's  sick,"  he  shouted  in  the  deaf  woman's  ear. 

"  Sick?  Where's  he  sick?  "  Mrs.  Keeler  lifted  the 
basket  to  the  table  and  coming  back  to  Maurice,  put  a 
berry-stained  finger  under  his  chin.  "  Stick  out  your 
tongue!  "  she  commanded.  "  Billy,  you  fetch  that  lamp 
over  here." 

Maurice  opened  his  mouth  and  protruded  his  stained 
and  swollen  tongue. 

"  Good  gracious!  "  cried  the  mother,  in  alarm.  "  That 
good  fer  nuthin'  boy  has  gone  an'  caught  the  foot  an' 
mouth  disease  from  Kearnie's  sheep." 

"  It's  jest  a  bad  cold  he's  caught,"  Billy  reassured  her. 
"  He's  so  hoarse  he  can't  speak." 

"  Well,  it  might  as  well  be  one  thing  as  another," 
frowned  the  woman.  "  That  boy  catches  everythin'  that 
comes  along,  anyway.  I  s'pose  111  have  to  quit  my  pre- 
servin'  to  mix  him  up  a  dose  of  allaways." 

Maurice  shivered  and  gazed  imploringly  at  Billy. 


THE  RUSE  THAT  FAILED  71 

"  If  you  had  somethin'  sweet  an'  soothin'  to  give  him," 
Billy  suggested.  "  Pine  syrup,  er  hoarhound,  er  somethin' 
like  that,  now —  " 

"Why,  maybe  you're  right,"  agreed  Mrs.  Keeler,  "  an' 
I  do  declare !  I  've  got  some  hoarhound  right  here  in  this 
basket.  Ain't  it  lucky  I  sent  fer  it?  " 

The  boys  exchanged  glances.  The  scheme  was  working! 
Mrs.  Keeler  went  back  to  the  basket  on  the  table  and  started 
to  remove  the  packages,  one  by  one. 

Billy  addressed  his  chum  in  tones  so  low  the  deaf  woman 
could  not  hear.  "  Now,  maybe  you'll  think  I  know  what 
I'm  doin',"  he  commenced,  then  jumped  guiltily,  as  a  ery 
of  indignation  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Mrs. 
Keeler  was  untying  the  parcels,  one  after  another,  and 
emptying  their  contents  in  the  basket.  Billy  stared.  Each 
of  the  parcels  contained  —  sawdust. 

She  turned  slowly,  stern  eyes  looking  above  her  glasses 
straight  into  his  startled  and  apprehensive  ones. 

"  Well?  "  she  said  ominously,  "  I  s'pose  yon  think 
you've  played  a  smart  trick,  you  young  limb!  " 

Billy  tried  to  say  something.  His  lips  moved  dumbly. 
Moisture  gathered  between  his  shoulder  blades,  condensed 
as  it  met  cold  fear,  and  trickled  in  tiny  rivulets  down  his 
shivering  spine. 

He  glanced  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Keeler 's  square  form  inter- 
posed itself  staunchly  between  him  and  that  means  of  exit. 
His  wild  eyes  strayed  to  the  face  of  his  chum.  Maurice 
was  grinning  a  glad,  if  swollen,  grin.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  face  the  music. 

Mrs,  Keeler  was  advancing  towards  him  now ;  advancing 
slowly  like  some  massed  avenging  force  of  doom.  '  I 
didn't  do  that,"  he  finally  managed  to  articulate.  "  I 
didn't  play  no  trick  on  you,  Missus  Keeler." 


72  A  SON  OF  COUKAGE 

His  knees  knocked  together.  Unconsciously,  his  hand 
felt  gropingly  back  toward  the  wood-box  in  search  of  some 
kind  of  support.  Mrs.  Keeler's  deafness  was  accountable 
for  her  misunderstanding  of  his  words.  She  brought  her 
advance  to  a  halt  and  stood  panting. 

"  I  didn't  play  no  trick  on  you,"  Billy  repeated. 

"  I  heard  you  the  first  time,"  panted  the  indignant 
woman.  "  You  said  if  I  teched  you  you'd  take  a  stick  to 
me.  So  you'd  commit  murder  on  a  woman  who  has  been 
a  second  mother  to  you,  would  you !  You  'd  brain  me  with 
a  stick  out  of  that  wood-box !  Oh!  Oh!"  She  lifted  her 
apron  and  covered  her  face. 

In  a  moment  Billy  was  beside  her.  ' '  Oh  Missus  Keeler, ' ' 
he  pleaded,  miserably.  "  I  didn't  say  that.  Don't  think 
I'd  do  anythin'  to  hurt  you,  'cause  I  wouldn't.  An'  I 
wouldn't  play  no  dirty  trick  on  you.  You've  been  good 
to  me  an'  I  think  a  heap  o'  you,  even  if  you  do  cuff  me 
sometimes.  Mr.  Spencer  put  up  that  basket  himself  while 
I  was  over  to  the  cottage,  gittin'  my  supper." 

Slowly  the  apron  was  lowered.  Slowly  the  woman's 
hands  dropped  to  Billy's  shoulders  and  she  gazed  into  his 
uplifted  eyes.  Then  she  did  a  thing  which  was  quite  char- 
acteristic of  her.  She  bent  and  gave  each  of  the  wide  grey 
eyes  upraised  to  hers  a  resounding  kiss.  Then,  roughly 
pushing  him  away,  she  reached  for  her  shawl  and  hat 
hanging  on  the  wall. 

"  You  boys  stay  right  here  and  keep  fire  under  that 
kettle,"  she  commanded.  "I'm  goin'  to  take  that  old 
Caleb  Spencer's  sawdust  back  to  him  an'  give  him  a  piece 
of  my  mind."  And  picking  up  the  basket  she  went  out, 
banging  the  door  behind  her. 

The  boys  gazed  at  each  other  and  Maurice's  chuckle 
echoed  Billy's,  although  it  was  raspy  and  hoarse. 


THE  RUSE  THAT  FAILED  73 

"  Throat  burain'  yet?  "  inquired  Billy. 

"  You  bet,"  Maurice  managed  to  answer. 

"  Well,  you  go  along  to  the  milkhouse  an'  lick  the  cream 
off  a  pan  of  milk.  It  11  settle  that  Injun  turnip  quick." 

Maurice  scooted  for  the  back  door.  He  returned  in  a 
little  while  with  white  patches  of  cream  adhering  to  chin 
and  nose.  "  Gosh!  "  he  sighed  gratefully,  "  that  was 
soothin'." 

"  What  dye  s'pose  made  Caleb  Spencer  put  up  that  job 
on  me?  "  questioned  Billy.  "  I  never  fooled  him  any.  I 
did  cut  some  letters  on  his  new  bench,  but  he  needn't  feel 
so  sore  at  that." 

"  Well,  jest  you  wait  till  Ma  asks  him  why  he  did  it,'* 
laughed  Maurice,  who  now  was  almost  normal  again. 
"  Ma's  great  on  gettin'  explanations,  she  is." 

Billy  went  down  into  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  furry 
object  about  the  size  of  a  pocket  knife  and  held  it  under 
his  chum's  eyes. 

"  Gollies!  "  exclaimed  Maurice.    "It's  your  rabbit-foot, 
charm.    Where  d'you  find  it,  Bill?  " 

"  Found  it  this  mornin'  down  by  the  pine  grove  near 
old  Scroggie's  ha 'n ted  house.  Stood  on  this  side  of  the 
creek  an'  sent  ol'  Moll  into  the  grove.  She  brought  it  to 
me.  She's  a  great  little  dog,  Moll.  Now  we're  ready  to 
hunt  ol'  Scroggie's  buried  money  an'  lost  will." 

"What!    Tonight?" 

"  Sure.  Do  you  want  somebody  else  to  stumble  on  it 
first?  We've  gotta  hunt  tonight  an'  every  night  till  we 
find  it,  that'salL" 

' '  But  we  can 't  go  now.  I  dassent  leave  them  preserves. 
If  I  do  Mall  skin  me.  Anyways,  ain't  we  goin'  to  let 
Elgin  an'  Fatty  in  on  it,  Bill?  " 

"  Naw,  you  know  what  they'd  do.     They'd  let  the  cat 


74  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

oat  o'  the  bag  sure.  They're  all  right  fer  light  work  sech 
as  swipin'  watermelon  an'  helpin'  make  a  seine-haul  but 
they  ain't  no  good  at  treasure  an'  will  huntin'." 

"  Maybe  you're  right,"  Maurice  said,  "  but  I'm  goin'  t' 
tell  you  I  ain't  feelin'  any  too  much  like  prowlin'  'round 
that  ha'nted  house  this  night  er  any  other  night." 

Billy  pushed  his  friend  into  a  chair  and  stood  before 
him.  "  Now  look  here,  Scarecat,"  he  said,  "  you're  goin' 
to  help  me  find  that  money  an'  will,  an'  111  tell  you  why. 
You  know  what  happened  to  Mr.  Stanhope,  the  teacher, 
don't  you?  He's  gone  blind  an'  has  had  to  give  up 
teachin'  the  school,  hasn't  he?  " 

Maurice  nodded,  his  face  grave. 

"  Well,  what  kind  of  a  feller  is  he,  anyway?  Come, 
answer  up." 

"He's  a  mighty  fine  feller,"  .cried  Maurice  enthusias- 
tically. 

"  You're  right,  he  is.  Well,  what's  he  goin'  to  do  now? 
He  can't  work,  kin  he?  " 

"  Gollies,  no.    I  never  thought —  " 

"  Well,  it's  time  you  did  think.  Now  you  know  that  oP 
Scroggie  left  him  every  thin'  he  owned,  don't  you?  " 

"  'Course  I  do." 

"  Only  he  can't  prove  it,  kin  he?  " 

"No!    Not  without  the  will." 

"  Well,  then?  "  Billy  sat  down  on  a  •orner  of  the 
table  and  eyed  his  friend  reproachfully. 

Maurice  squirmed  uneasily,  then  he  said:  "  'Course,  Bill, 
it's  up  to  you-  an'  me  to  find  that  will.  Bat  111  be  shot 
if  I'd  do  what  well  have  to  do  fer  anybody  else  in  the 
world  but  him." 

"  Say,  here's  a  piece  of  news  fer  you,"  cried  Billy. 
"  We're  goin'  to  get  oP  Harry  O'Dule  to  help  us.  He's 


THE  RUSE  THAT  FAILED  75 

the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son.  We're  goin'  over  to  his 
cabin  to  see  him  tonight." 

"  Gee!  Bill,  we  oughta  find  it  if  we  get  Harry  to  help, 
but  I  can't  see  how  I'm  goin'  to  get  away,"  said  Maurice 
ruefully. 

Just  here  a  step  sounded  on  the  gravel  outside  and  a 
knock  fell  on  the  door.  Maurice  opened  the  door  and  in 
stepped  Anson. 

He  glanced  suspiciously  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
boys,  then  said:  "  Ma  sent  me  to  see  what  happened  to 
you,  Bill.  She  says  come  on  home  to  your  supper." 

"  Had  my  supper,"  Billy  informed  him.  "  You  go  on 
back  and  tell  Ma  that." 

"  You've  gottg,  come,  too." 

' '  No,  Anse,  I  promised  Missus  Keeler  that  me  an'  Maurice 
would  keep  fire  under  that  preservin'  kettle  till  she  gits 
back  from  the  store.  I  need  the  ten  cents  to  buy  fish 
hooks  with,  besides  —  ' ' 

"  Gee  1  Bill,  is  she  goin'  to  give  you  ten  cents  fer  helpin' 
Maurice  keep  fire  on?  "  asked  Anson  eagerly. 

"  Well,  she  didn't  'zactly  promise  she  would,  but  —  " 

"  Say,  fellers,  let  me  stay  with  you  an'  we'll  split  three 
ways,  eh?  "  suggested  Anson. 

"No,"  said  Billy,  with  finality. 

"  'Tain't  enough  fer  a  three-way  split,"  said  Maurice. 

"  Well,  you  can't  hinder  me  from  stayin',  an'  I  figger 
I'm  in  fer  a  third,"  said  Anson,  seating  himself  doggedly 
near  the  stove. 

Billy's  face  cracked  into  a  grin  which  he  was  careful  to 
turn  from  his  step-brother.  "  How'd  you  like  to  do  all 
the  firm'  an'  get  all  the  reward,  Anse?  "  he  suggested. 
"  I've  got  a  milk-snake  here  that  I  want 'a  get  put  safe 
away  in  the  root-house  afore  Ma  takes  in  the  lantern. 


76  A  SON  OF  COURAGE  - 

Maurice   Tl  come  along  an'  help  me  stow  him  away." 
"  All  right,  111  stay  an*  fire,"  agreed  Anson.     "But 

remember,"  as  the  other  boys  reached  for  their  hats,  "  I 

ain't  agoin'  to  share  up  what  Missus  Keeler  gives  me  with 

you  fellers." 

"  You're  welcome  to  keep  all  she  gives  you  fer  yourself," 

said  Billy. 

"  Sure,"  said  Maurice.     "  Shell  likely  hold  somethin' 

back  fer  me,  anyway.    Don't  ferget  to  keep  a  good  fire  on, 

Anse,"  he  admonished,  as  he  followed  Billy  outside. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  RABBIT  FOOT  CHARM 

The  place  which  old  Harry  O'Dule  called  home  was  a 
crumbling  log  cabin  on  the  shore  of  Levee  Creek,  just  on 
the  border  of  the  Scroggie  bush.  Originally  it  had  been 
built  as  a  shelter  for  sheep,  but  with  the  clearing  of  the 
land  it  had  fallen  into  disuse.  O'Dule  had  found  it  on 
one  of  his  pilgrimages  and  had  promptly  appropriated  it 
unto  himself.  Nobody  thought  of  disputing  his  possession, 
perhaps  because  most  of  the  good  people  of  Scotia  inwardly 
feared  the  old  man's  uncanny  powers  of  second  sight,  and 
the  foreshadowing  —  on  those  who  chose  to  cross  him  —  of 
dire  evils,  some  of  which  had  been  known  to  materialize. 
Old  Harry  boasted  that  he  was  the  seventh  son  of  a  sev- 
enth son. 

"  It's  born  under  a  caul  was  I,"  he  told  them.  "  An' 
minny  a  mystery  has  been  cleared  up  in  ould  Ireland  be 
meself,  I'm  tellin'  ye." 

At  which  some  laughed  and  some  scoffed.  Deacon 
Ringold  had  sternly  advised  the  old  man  to  return  to  the 
country  where  black  magic  was  still  countenanced,  as  there 
was  no  place  for  it  in  an  enlightened  and  Christian  com- 
munity such  as  Scotia,  a  suggestion  that  old  Harry  took 
in  seeming  good  humor.  But  the  fact  that  the  deacon  lost 
two  milk  cows  and  four  hogs,  through  sickness  during  the 
fortnight  which  followed,  had  caused  considerable  discus- 
sion throughout  the  settlement. 

O'Dule  had  cut  a  window  in  the  cabin,  installed  an  old 
stove,  table  and  chairs,  and  succeeded  in  making  the  place 

77 


78  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

home-like  enough  to  suit  his  simple  taste.  To-night  he  stood 
by  the  stove,  frying  potatoes  and  humming  an  Irish  song. 
On  the  table  lay  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  butter  in  a 
saucer,  while  close  beside  it  a  coal  oil  lamp  gave  a  smoky 
light  to  the  room.  In  the  center  of  the  table  reposed  a 
huge  blue-grey  cat,  its  amber  eyes  on  Harry  and  its  fore- 
paws  curled  contentedly  beneath  its  furry  breast.  All 
about  the  room  hung  the  skins  of  wild  animals  —  deer, 
bear,  lynx  and  coon.  A  pile  of  skins  lay  in  one  corner. 
This  was  O'Dule's  bed. 

"Och!    Billy  O'Shune  can't  ye  whistle  t'  me, 
Av  the  gurril  ye  loved  on  the  Isle  'cross  the  sea  — 
Shure  it's  weary  I  am  av  that  drear,  sorry  song 
So  stop  liltin',  through  tears,  wid  a  visage  so  long  — 
Come,  it's  me  ears  a  glad  ditty  would  hear  — 
Av  love  'neath  th'  skies  av  ould  Ireland,  dear  — 
Come,  let  us  be  glad  —  both  togither,  me  lad  — 
There's  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  has  iver  been  had  — 
—  Ooh,  Billy  O'Shune  — 
That's  not  much  av  a  chune." 

So  hummed  old  Harry  as  he  stirred  the  potatoes  and 
wet  his  vocal  chords,  occasionally,  from  the  jug  at  his  feet. 

Suddenly  a  knock  fell  on  the  door. 

"  In  ye  come,"  invited  the  Irishman  and  there  entered 
Billy  and  Maurice. 

"  Sit  ye  down,  lads,  sit  ye  down,"  cried  the  hospitable 
Harry.  "  Begobs,  but  it's  a  fine  brace  av  byes  ye  are,  an' 
no  mistake.  Wull  ye  be  afther  suppin'  a  bit  wid  me? 
The  repast  is  all  but  spread  an*  it's  full  welcome  ye  are, 
both." 

"  We've  had  our  supper,"  said  Billy.  "  Thought  we'd 
like  to  see  you  fer  a  minute  er  two,  Harry,"  he  added 
gravely,  as  he  and  his  chum  seated  themselves. 


THE  RABBIT  FOOT  CHARM  79 

"  Alone,"  said  Maurice,  significantly. 

"  Faith  an'  ain't  I  alone  enough  to  suit  ye?  "  laughed 
Harry.  "  Would  ye  have  me  put  the  cat  out,  thin?  Now, 
phwat  is  utT  " 

The  boys  glanced  at  each  other.  "  You  tell  him,"  whis- 
pered Billy,  but  Maurice  shook  his  head.  "  No,  you,"  he 
whispered  back. 

Billy  braced  himself  and  took  a  long  breath.  "  We've 
made  up  our  minds  t'  find  old  man  Scnv;gie's  will,"  he 
said. 

"  An'  money,"  said  Maurice.  "  We  want  you  to  help 
us,  Harry." 

"  God  love  us!  "  ejaculated  Harry,  dropping  the  knife 
with  which  he  was  stirring  the  potatoes  and  reaching  for 
the  demijohn.  "  An'  fer  why  should  ye  be  out  on  tibat 
wild  goose  chase,  now?  " 

"  'Cause  we  want  Teacher  Stanhope  to  have  what 
belongs  to  him,"  said  Billy  warmly. 

"  Do  ye  now?  God  love  him  but  that  was  a  hard  slap 
in  th'  face  he  got  fer  playin'  the  man's  part,  so  ut  was. 
Only  this  night  did  I  say  as  much  to  Caleb  Spencer.  Ut's 
meself  would  like  t'  see  him  get  what  was  his  by  rights, 
byes." 

"  We  knew  that,"  cried  Billy,  eagerly;  "  that's  why  we 
come  to  you,  Harry.  You  say  you've  found  buried  treasure 
in  Ireland;  won't  you  help  us  find  the  lost  will  an' 
money?  '' 

O'DuI?  transferred  the  potatoes  from  the  frying  pan  to 
a  cracktu  plate.  He  sat  down  at  the  table  and  ate  his 
supper  without  so  much  aa  another  word.  The  boys 
watched  him,  fear  in  their  hearts  that  the  eecentrie  old 
Irishman  would  refuse  their  request. 

After  a  time  Harry  pushed  his  stool  back  from  the  table. 


80  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Byes,"  he  said,  producing  a  short  black  pipe  from  his 
pocket.  "  It's  lend  ye  a  spade  and  lantern  I'll  do  an* 
gladly;  but  it's  yerselves  would  surely  not  be  axin'  me  t' 
test  me  powers  ag'in  a  spirrut.  Listen  now.  Old  Scrog- 
gie's  ghost  do  be  guardin'  his  money,  wheriver  it  lies. 
That  you  know  as  well  as  me.  It's  frank  111  be  wid  ye, 
an'  tell  ye  that  ag'in  spirruts  me  powers  are  as  nuthin'. 
An'  go  widin  the  unholy  circle  av  the  ha'nted  grove  to 
do  favor  t'  aither  man  'er  divil  111  not." 

"  But  think  of  what  it  means  to  him,"  urged  Billy. 
"  Besides,  Harry,  I've  got  a  charm  that'll  keep  ol'  Scrog- 
gie's  ghost  away,"  he  added,  eagerly. 

"An'  phwat  is  ut?  "  Old  Harry's  interest  was  real. 
He  laid  his  pipe  down  on  the  table  and  leaned  towards 
Billy. 

"  It's  the  left  hind  foot  of  a  grave-yard  rabbit,"  said 
Billy,  proudly  exhibiting  the  charm. 

O'Dule's  shaggy  brows  met  in  a  frown.  "  Ut's  no  good 
a 'tall,  a 'tall,"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "  Ut's  not  aven  a 
snake-bite  that  trinket  wud  save  ye  from,  let  alone  a  ghost. ' ' 

Billy  felt  his  back-bone  stiffen  in  resentment.  Then  he 
noted  that  the  milk  snake,  which  he  had  thought  snugly 
asleep  in  his  coat  pocket,  had  awakened  in  the  warmth  of 
the  little  cabin  and  slipped  from  the  pocket  and  now  lay, 
coiled  and  happy,  beneath  the  rusty  stove.  He  saw  his 
opportunity  to  get  back  at  O'Dule  for  his  scoffing. 

"  All  right,  Harry,"  he  said  airily,  "  if  tha* '«  all  you 
know  about  charms,  I  guess  you  haven't  any  that  'ud  help 
us  much.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  rabbit-foot  viliarm  kin 
do  wonders.  It'll  not  only  keep  you  from  bein'  bit  by 
snakes  but  by  sayin'  certain  words  to  it  you  kin  bring  a 
snake  right  in  to  your  feet  with  it,  an*  you  kin  pick  it  up 
an'  handle  it  without  bein'  bit,  too." 


THE  RABBIT  FOOT  CHARM        81 

"  Oeh,  it's  a  brave  lad  ye  are,  Billy  bye,"  Harry 
wheezed,  "  an'  a  brave  liar,  too.  Go  on  wid  yer  nonsense, 
now. '' 

"  It's  a  fact,  Harry,"  backed  Maurice. 

"  Fact,"  cried  O'Dule,  angrily  now.  "  Don't  ye  be 
comin'  to  me,  a  siventh  son  av  a  siventh  son,  wid  such  non- 
sinse.  Faith,  if  yon  worthless  rabbit-fut  kin  do  phwat  ye 
claim,  why  not  prove  ut  t'  me  now?  " 

"  An'  if  we  do,"  asked  Billy  eagerly,  "  will  you  agree 
to  use  your  power  to  help  us  find  the  money  an '  will  ?  ' ' 

"  That  I'll  do,"  assented  Harry,  unhesitatingly.  "  Call 
up  yer  snake  an'  handle  ut  widout  bein'  bit,  an'  I'll  help 
ye." 

"  All  right,  I'll  do  it,"  said  Billy.  "  Jest  turn  the  lamp 
down  a  little,  Harry." 

"  Me  hands  are  a  bit  unsteady,"  said  Harry,  quickly. 
"  We'll  1'ave  the  light  be  as  ut  is,  Billy." 

"  It  ought 'a  be  dark,"  protested  Billy,  "  but  I'll  try  it 
anyway."  He  lifted  the  rabbit  foot  to  his  face  and 
breathed  some  words  upon  it.  Then  in  measured  tones  he 
recited : 

' '  Hokey-pokey  Bamboo  Brake  — 
Go  an '  gather  in  a  snake  —  ' ' 

Slowly  Billy  lowered  the  charm  and  looked  at  Harry. 
The  old  man  sat,  puffing  his  short  pipe,  a  derisive  grin  on 
his  unshaven  lips. 

"  It's  failed  ye  have,  as  I  knowed  ye  wud,"  he  chuckled. 
"  Ye  best  be  lavin'  now,  both  av  ye,  wid  yer  pranks." 

"  But,"  said  Billy  quickly,  "  the  charm  did  work.  It 
brought  the  snake,  jest  as  I  said  it  would." 

"Brought  ut?  Where  is  ut,  thin?"  Harry  sat  up 
straight,  his  little  eyes  flashing  in  fright. 


82  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"It's  under  the  stove.     See  it?  " 

Harry  bent  and  peered  beneath  the  stove.  "  Be  the 
scales  av  the  divil!  "  he  shivered,  "  is  ut  a  big,  mottled 
snake  I  see,  or  have  I  got  what  always  I  feared  I  might 
get  some  day.  Is  ut  the  D.  T.'s  I've  got,  I  wonder!  How 
come  the  reptile  here,  anyhow,  byes?  " 

11  You  told  me  to  bring  it  in,  didn't  you?  "  Billy; 
inquired,  mildly. 

"  Yis,  yis,  Billy.  But  hivins!  ut's  little  did  I  think  that 
cat-paw  av  a  charm  had  such  power,"  groaned  the  wretched 
Irishman.  "  Ut's  yourself  said  ut  would  let  you  handle 
reptiles  widout  bein'  bit.  Thin  fer  the  love  ov  hivin  pluck 
yon  serpent  from  beneath  the  stove  an '  hurl  ut  outside  into 
the  blackness  where  ut  belongs." 

Billy  arose  and  moving  softly  to  the  stove  picked  up  the 
harmless  milk  snake,  squirming  and  protesting,  from  the 
warm  floor.  O'Dule  watched  him  with  fascinated  eyes. 
The  big  cat  had  risen  and  with  back  fur  and  tail  afluff 
spit  vindictively  as  Billy  passed  out  through  the  door. 

When  he  returned  O'Dule  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  his  feet  on  a  stool.  He  was  taking  a  long  sup  from 
the  demijohn. 

"  Well,  do  you  believe  in  my  charm  now?  "  Billy  asked. 

"  I  do,"  said  Harry  unhesitatingly. 

"  An*  you'll  help  us,  as  you  promised?  " 

"  Did  ye  iver  hear  av  Harry  O'Dule  goin'  back  on  a 
promise?  "  said  the  old  man,  reproachfully.  "  Help  you 
wull  I  shurely,  an'  I'll  be  tellin'  ye  how.  Go  ye  over  t'  the 
corner,  Billy,  an'  pull  up  the  loose  board  av  the  flure. 
Ye '11  be  findin'  a  box  there.  Yis,  that's  right  Now  fetch 
ut  here.  Look  ye  both,  byes." 

Harry  lifted  the  little  tin  box  to  his  knees  and  opened 
it.  From  it  he  brought  forth  a  conglomeration  of  articles. 


THE  BABBIT  FOOT  CHARM        83 

There  were  queer  little  disks  of  hammered  brass  and  copper, 
an  egg-shaped  object  that  sparkled  like  crystal  in  the  lamp- 
light, a  crotch-shaped  branch  of  a  tree.  As  he  handled 
those  objects  tenderly  the  old  man's  face  was  tense  and 
he  mumbled  something  entirely  meaningless  to  the  watchers. 
Finally,  with  an  exclamation  of  triumph,  he  brought  forth 
a  piece  of  metal  the  size  and  shape  of  an  ordinary  lead 
pencil. 

"  Look  ye,"  he  cried,  holding  it  aloft.  "  The  fairies' 
magic  arrer,  ut  is,  an*  ut  niver  fails  t'  fall  on  the  spot 
where  the  treasure  lies  hidden.  Foind  Scroggie's  buried 
money  ut  would  have  long  ago  if  ut  wasn't  fer  the  ould 
man's  spirrut  that  roams  the  grove.  As  I  told  ye  afore, 
ut's  no  charm  ag'in  the  spirruts  av  the  departed,  as  yon 
grave-yard  rabbit's  fut  is." 

"  But  with  the  two  of  'em,"  cried  Billy  eagerly,  "  we 
kin  surely  find  the  will,  Harry." 

"  It's  right  true  ye  spake,"  nodded  Harry.  "  An' 
mebbe  sooner  than  we  think.  An'  ut's  the  young  t'acher 
wid  the  blindness  that  gets  it  all,  ye  say?  " 

"  01*  Scroggie  left  it  all  to  him,"  said  Billy. 

"  Begobs,  so  I've  heard  before."  Harry  scratched  his 
head  reflectively. 

"  Well,  God  love  his  gentle  heart,  ut's  himself  now  11 
hardly  be  carin*  phwat  becomes  o'  the  money,  let  alone 
he  gets  possession  av  the  thousand  acre  hardwoods,  I'm 
thinkin',"  he  said,  fastening  his  eyes  on  Billy's  face.  "I'd 
be  wishin'  the  young  t'acher  to  be  ginerous,  byes." 

"  He  will,"  cried  Billy,  "  I  know  he  will." 

"  Thin  God  bless  him,"  cried  Harry.  "  Now  grasp 
tight  t'  yer  rabbit  fut,  an'  we'll  be  afther  goin'  on  our 
way  t'  tempt  Satan,  over  beyant  in  the  evil  cedars." 

Five  minutes  later  the  trio  were  out  on  the  forest  path, 


V  » 

84  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

passing  in  Indian  file  towards  the  haunted  grove.  The 
wind  had  risen  and  now  swept  through  the  great  trees 
with  ghostly  sound.  A  black  cloud,  creeping  up  out  of 
the  west,  was  wiping  out  the  stars.  Throughout  the  forest 
the  notes  of  the  night-prowlers  were  strangely  hushed. 
No  word  was  spoken  between  the  treasure-seekers  until 
the  elm-bridged  creek  was  reached.  Then  old  Harry 
paused,  with  labored  breath,  his  head  bent  as  though 
listening. 

"  Hist,"  he  whispered  and  Billy  and  Maurice  felt  their 
flesh  creep.  "  Ut's  hear  that  swishin'  av  feet  above,  ye 
do?  Ut's  the  Black  troup  houldin'  their  course  'twixt  the 
seared  earth  an*  the  storm.  The  witches  of  Bally  clue,  ut 
is,  an'  whin  they  be  out  on  their  mad  run  the  ghosts  av 
dead  min  hould  wild  carnival.  Ut  '11  be  needin '  that  rabbit- 
fut  sure  we  wull,  if  the  ha'nted  grove  we  enter  this  night." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
LUCK  RIDES  THE  STORM 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  coming  storm  the  forest 
gloom  deepened  to  velvet  blackness.  Suddenly  a  tongue 
of  lightning  licked  the  tree-tops  and  a  crash  of  thunder 
shattered  the  stillness.  A  few  heavy  rain-drops  spattered 
on  the  branches  above  the  heads  of  the  waiting  three. 
Billy  and  Maurice,  a  strange  terror  tugging  at  their  heart- 
strings, waited  for  old  Harry  to  give  the  word  forward. 
But  Harry  seemed  to  be  in  no  great  hurry  to  voice  such 
command.  Pear  had  gripped  his  superstitious  soul  and 
the  courage  loaned  him  from  the  squat  demijohn  was  fast 
oozing  away. 

Above,  the  blue-white  lightning  zig-zagged  and  the  boom 
of  the  thunder  shook  the  earth.  A  huge  elm  shivered  and 
shrieked  as  if  in  agony  as  a  darting  tongue  of  flame 
enwrapped  it  like  a  yellow  serpent,  splitting  its  heart  in 
twain. 

Billy  found  himself,  face  down,  on  the  wet  moss. 
Maurice  was  tugging  at  his  arm.  The  stricken  tree  had 
burst  into  flame,  beneath  the  ghostly  light  of  which  path, 
creek  and  pine-grove  stood  out  clear-limned  as  a  cameo 
against  a  velvet  background.  Billy  noted  this  as  he  sat 
dazedly  up.  He  and  Maurice  were  alone;  old  Harry  had 
vanished. 

"He's  gone,"  Maurice  answered  his  chum's  look. 
"  Took  to  his  heels  when  the  lightnin'  struck  that  elm. 
The  shock  knocked  us  both  down.  He  was  gone  when  I 
come  to." 

85 


86  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Billy  grinned  a  wan  grin  and  pressed  his  knuckles 
against  his  aching  eyes.  "So's  my  milk-snake,"  he  said. 
' '  Guess  I  spilled  him  out  o '  my  pocket  when  I  fell.  Gee ! 
that  was  a  close  call.  Say,  Maurice,  ain't  it  queer  though? 
I  was  feelin'  mighty  scared  an'  trembly  afore  that  bolt 
fell,  but  now  I  feel  nervy  enough  to  tackle  any  ghost. 
How  Txrat  you?  " 

"  By  gosh!  that's  jest  how  I  feel,  Bill.  That  lightnin' 
knocked  all  the  scare  plumb  out  o'  me.  I  don't  like  these 
no-rain  sort  of  thunderstorms  though,"  he  added. 
"  They're  always  slashin'  out  when  they're  least 
expected. '  * 

' '  Well,  the  lightnin '  part  of  this  un  's  about  past  us, 
Maurice.  But  the  rain's  comin'.  Guess  that  ol'  elm's 
done  fer.  She's  dead,  though,  else  she  wouldn't  burn 
like  that.  By  hokey!  "  he  broke  off,  "will  you  look 
here?  " 

He  picked  up  something  that  glittered  in  the  firelight, 
and  held  it  up  for  his  chum's  inspection. 

"  Old  Harry's  fairy  arrer,"  gasped  Maurice.  "Oh  say, 
Bill,  ain't  that  lucky?  He  must  have  lost  it  in  his  scram- 
ble to  get  away." 

"  Likely.  Now  I  move  we  go  right  over  into  that 
ha'nted  grove.  What  you  say?  " 

Maurice  swallowed  hard,  "I'm  blame  fool  enough  fer 
anythin'  since  I  got  knocked  silly  by  that  bolt,"  he 
answered,  "so  I'm  game  if  you  are." 

"  Watch  out!  "  warned  Billy,  grasping  him  by  the  arm 
and  jerking  him  to  one  side,  "  that  struck  elm  is  goin' 
to  fall."  A  rainbow  of  flame  flashed  close  before  the 
boys,  as  the  stricken  tree  crashed  across  the  path,  hurl- 
ing forth  a  shower  of  sparks  as  it  came  to  earth.  Then 
inky  darkness  followed  and  from  the  black  canopy  which 


LUCK  RIDES  THE  STORM  87 

a  moment  ago  had  seemed  to  touch  the  tree  tops  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents. 

"Bill,  Oh  Bill!  where  'bouts  are  you?  "  Maurice's  voice 
sounded  muffled  and  far  away  to  his  chum's  ears 

"I'm  right  here,"  he  answered. 

' '  Gollies !  but  ain  't  it  dark  ?  I  can 't  see  anythin '  of  you, 
Bill." 

'  *  Ner  me,  either.  I  guess  we  '11  have  to  give  up  the 
hunt  fer  t 'night,  Maurice.  Anyways,  we  don't  know  jest 
how  to  work  ol '  Harry 's  fairy  arrer. ' ' 

"  No,  well  have  to  find  out.  Say,  Bill,  where  txmts 
is  the  path?"" 

"  Gee!  how  am  I  to  know;  it's  right  here  somewheres, 
though." 

"  I  guess  I've  found  it,  Bill.  Come  over  close,  so's  I 
kin  touch  you,  then  we'll  be  movin'  'long.  Hully  gee! 
but  I'm  wet.  Got  both  them  charms  safe?  " 

"  Right    here  in  my  two  fists,  Maurice." 

"  Well,  hang  to  'em  tight  till  we  get  away  from  this 
ha'nted  grove.  Ghosts  don't  mind  rain  none  —  an'  he's 
liable  t'  be  prowlin'  out.  Say,  can't  y'  whistle  a  bit,  so's 
it  won't  be  so  pesky  lonesome?  " 

Billy  puckered  up  his  lips,  but  his  effort  was  a  failure. 
"  You  try,  Maurice,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  jest  keep  the  hole 
in  my  mouth  steady  long  enough  t'  whistle." 

"  Gosh!  ain't  I  been  tryin',"  groaned  Maurice.  "  My 
teeth  won't  keep  still  a 'tall.  Maybe  I  won't  be  one  glad 
kid  when  we  get  out  'a  here." 

For  half  an  hour  they  groped  their  way  forward,  no 
further  words  passing  between  them.  The  heavy  roar  of 
the  rain  on  the  tree  tops  made  conversation  next  to  impos- 
sible. The  darkness  was  so  dense  they  were  forced  to 
proceed  slowly  and  pause  for  breath  after  bumping  vio- 


88  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

lently  against  a  tree  or  sapling-.  They  had  been  striving 
for  what  seemed  to  both  to  be  a  long,  long  time  to  find  the 
clearing  when  Billy  paused  in  his  tracks  and  spoke :  ' '  It 's 
no  use,  Maurice.  We're  lost." 

Maurice  sank  weakly  down  against  a  tree  trunk,  and 
groaned. 

"  I  guess  we've  struck  into  the  big  woods,"  Billy 
informed  him.  "Anyways,  the  trees  are  gcttin'  thicker 
the  further  we  go." 

"  Gee!  Bill,  there  might  be  wolves  an'  bears  in  this 
woods,"  said  Maurice,  fearfully.  t  • 

"  Sure  there  might  but  I  guess  all  we  kin  do  is  take 
our  chance  with  'em." 

"  Well,  I'd  rather  take  a  chance  with  a  bear  than  a 
ghost,  wouldn't  you  Bill?  " 

"Betcha,  I  would.  Say  Maurice,'"  he  broke  out 
excitedly,  "  there's  a  light  comin*  through  the  trees.  See 
it?  It's  movin'.  Must  be  somebody  with  a  lantern." 

"  I  see  it,"  Maurice  replied  in  guarded  tones.  "  Bill, 
that  light's  comin'  this  way,  sure  as  shootin'." 

"  Looks  like  it.  Wonder  who  it  kin  be?  Maybe  some- 
body lookin*  fer  us. 

The  two  boys  crouched  down  beside  a  great  beeeh.  The 
light,  which  had  not  been  a  great  distance  from  them  when 
first  sighted,  was  rapidly  approaching.  Billy  grasped  his 
chum's  arm.  "  Look,"  he  whispered,  "  there's  two  of 
'em." 

"  I  see  'em,"  his  friend  whispered  back.  "  Gosh!  looks 
as  though  they're  goin*  to  tramp  right  onto  us." 

However,  the  night-roamers  of  the  forest  did  not  walk 
into  them.  Instead  they  came  very  close  te  the  boys  and 
halted.  The  man  who  carried  the  lantern  set  it  down  on 
the  ground  and  spoke  in  gruff  toiies  to  his  companion,  a 


LUCK  RIDES  THE  STORM  89 

short,  heavy-set  man  with  a  fringe  of  black  beard  on  his 
face. 

"  I  tell  you,  Jack,  we'll  hide  the  stuff  there.  It'll  be 
safe  as  a  church." 

"  I  say  no,  Tom,"  the  other  returned,  surlily.  "  It 
won't  be  safe  there.  Somebody  11  be  sure  to  find  if." 

The  other  man  turned  on  him  angrily.  "  Who'll  find 
it?  "  he  retorted.  "  Don't  be  a  fool,  Jack.  You  couldn't 
pull  anybody  to  that  place  with  a  loggin'  chain.  It's  the 
safest  spot  in  the  world  to  hide  the  stuff,  I  tell  ye.  Besides, 
the  boat  orter  be  in  in  a  few  days,  and  we  kin  slip  the 
stuff  to  Cap.  Jacques  without  the  boss  ever  knowin'  how 
far  we've  exceeded  his  orders." 

"  All  right,"  gruffly  assented  his  companion,  "if  you're 
so  cock  sure,  it  suits  me  all  right.  Come  on;  let's  get 
out  of  this  cussed  woods.  Remember  we've  got  some  work 
before  us  tonight." 

The  man  named  Tom  picked  up  the  lantern  and  moved 
on,  cursing  the  rain  and  the  saplings  that  whipped  his 
face  at  every  step.  His  pal  followed  without  a  word. 

The  boys  waited  until  the  lantern's  glow  grew  hazy 
through  the  slackening  rain,  then  they  sprang  up  and  fol- 
lowed. Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  the  trees  began 
to  thin.  Unwittingly  the  strangers  had  guided  them  into 
the  clearing. 

As  they  reached  the  open  the  rain  ceased  altogether. 
High  above  a  few  pale  stars  were  beginning  to  probe 
through  the  tattered  clouds.  The  men  with  the  lantern  were 
rapidly  moving  across  the  stumpy  fallow,  towards  the 
causeway. 

' '  Will  we  f oiler  'em,  Bill  ?  ' '  asked  Maurice  eagerly. 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "I'd  sort  o'  like  to,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "  jest  to  find  out  what  game  they're  up  to,  but  I 


90  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

guess  if  we  know  what's  good  fer  us  well  go  home  an* 
take  off  these  wet  duds.  Hard  lookin'  customers,  wasn't 
they?  " 

"  Hard,  I  should  say  so!  I'll  bet  either  one  of  'em  'ud 
murder  a  hull  family  fer  ten  cents.  Say,  Bill,  maybe 
they're  pirates;  you  heard  what  they  said  about  a  boat, 
didn't  you?" 

"  Yep,  I  heard,  but  they  ain't  pirates,  'cause  they  didn't 
have  no  tattoo  marks  on  'em,  er  rings  in  their  ears;  but 
whoever  they  are  they're  up  to  no  good.  They're  aimin' 
to  hide  somethin'  somewheres,  but  jest  what  it  is  an'  where 
they  intend  hidin'  it  there's  no  way  of  tellin';  so  come  on, 
let's  get  movin'." 

In  silence  they  made  their  way  across  the  clearing  to 
the  road.  "  Say,  Bill,"  said  Maurice,  as  they  paused  to  rest 
on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence,  "  do  you  'spose  we  best  tell 
our  dads  about  seein'  them  men?  " 

"  Naw,  can't  you  see  if  we  told  our  dads  that,  they'd 
want  'a  know  what  you  an'  me  was  doin'  out  in  Scroggie's 
bush  in  the  rain,  at  that  hour  of  the  night  ?  No  siree,  we 
won't  say  a  word  'bout  it." 

"  Then  s'posin'  we  try  an'  find  out  something  'bout  'em 
fer  ourselves,  eh?  " 

"  Say,  you  give  me  a  pain,"  cried  Billy.  "  Don't  you 
'spose  we've  got  all  we  kin  do  ahead  of  us  now?  " 

"  Findin'  Scroggie's  money  an'  will,  you  mean?  " 

"  Sure.  Now  shut  up  an'  let's  get  home.  I  expect  Ma '11 
be  waitin'  up  to  give  me  hail  Columbia,  an'  I  guess  you 
won't  be  gettin'  any  pettin'  from  yourn,  either." 

"  I  know  what  I'll  be  gettin'  from  mine,  all  right,"  said 
Maurice,  moodily.  "  Say,  Bill,"  he  coaxed,  "  you  come 
along  oVer  by  our  place  an'  smooth  things  over  fer  me, 
will  you?  YOH  kin  do  any  thin' with  Ma." 


LUCK  RIDES  THE  STORM  91 

"  No,"  said  Billy,  "  I  got  to  be  movin'  on." 

"  But  I'll  get  an  awful  hidin'  if  you  don't.  I  don't 
mind  an  ordinary  tannin'  but  a  tannin'  in  these  wet  pants 
is  goin'  to  hurt  like  fury.  They're  stickin  close  to  my  legs. 
I  might  as  well  be  naked  an'  Ma  she  certainly  does  lay  it 
on." 

Billy  laughed.  "  All  right,  I'll  come  along,  but  I  ain't 
believin'  anythin'  I  kin  say  to  your  Mall  keep  you  from 
gettin'  it." 

The  boys  slid  from  the  fence,  then  leaped  back  as  some- 
thing long  and  white  rose  from  behind  a  fallen  tree  and, 
with  a  startled  snort,  confronted  them. 

"  Gollies!  "  ejaculated  Billy.  "  It's  a  hog.  I  thought, 
first  off,  it  was  a  bear." 

Maurice  peered  out  from  behind  a  tree.  "  Well,  I'll  be 
jiggered!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  our  old  sow.  She's  been 
lost  fer  nigh  onto  two  weeks,  an*  Dad's  been  huntin'  fer  her 
everywhere." 

"That  so?    Then  we'll  drive  her  home." 

"  Aw,  say,  Bill,"  protested  Maurice,  "I'm  tired  an'  wet 
as  a  water-logged  plank.  Let  her  go.  I'll  tell  Dad,  an' 
he  kin  come  after  her  tomorrow." 

"  No,  we'll  drive  her  home  now.  I  guess  I  know  what's 
best.  Get  on  t'other  side  of  her.  Now  then,  don't  let  her 
turn  back!  " 

Maurice  grumblingly  did  his  share  of  the  driving.  It  was 
'  no  easy  task  to  pilot  that  big,  rangy  sow  into  the  safe 
harbor  of  the  Keeler  barnyard  but  done  it  was  at  last. 

"  Ma's  got  the  light  burnin'  an'  the  strap  waitin'  fer 
her  little  boy,"  chaffed  Billy  as  they  put  up  the  barn-yard 
bars. 

Maurice,  who  had  climbed  the  fence  so  as  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  interior  of  his  home  through  a  window,  whistled 


92  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

softly  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  scene  within, 

"  Say,  Billy,"  he  cried,  "  your  Ma  an'  Pa's  there." 

"  Gee  whitticker!  "  exclaimed  Billy.  "  I  wish  now  I 
hadn't  promised  you  I'd  come  in.  All  right,  lead  oa.  Let's 
get  the  funeral  over  with." 

Without  so  much  as  another  word  the  boys  went  up  the 
path. 

"  If  I  don't  see  you  ag'in  alive,  Bill,  good  bye,"  whis- 
pered Maurice  as  he  opened  the  door. 

Mrs.  Keeler,  who  was  doing  her  best  to  catch  what  her 
neighbor  was  saying,  lifted  her  head  as  the  two  wet  and 
tired  boys  entered  the  room. 

"  There  they  be  now,"  she  said  grimly.  "  The  two  worst 
boys  in  Scotia,  Mrs.  Wilson." 

"  I  believe  you,  Mrs.  Keeler,"  nodded  her  friend.  "  Now 
then,  where  have  you  two  drowned  rats  been  tonight, 
William  ?  " 

Cobin  Keeler,  who  was  playing  a  game  of  checkers  with 
Billy's  father,  cleared  his  throat  and  leaned  forward  like 
a  judge  on  the  bench,  waiting  for  the  answer  to  his  neigh- 
bor's question. 

"We  got "  commenced  Maurice,  but  Billy  pinched 

his  leg  for  silence. 

"  I  got  track  of  your  lost  sow,  Mr.  Keeler,  when  I  was 
comin'  home  from  the  store  tonight,"  he  said.  "Least- 
wise I  didn't  know  it  was  your  sow  but  Maurice  told  me 
about  yours  bein'  lost.  So  after  Mrs.  Keeler  went  to 
give  Mr.  Spencer  a  call  down  we  hired  Anse  to  look  after 
the  preservin'  an'  went  out  to  try  an'  track  her  down.'1 

Maurice,  who  had  listened  open  mouthed  to  his  chum's 
narration,  sighed  deeply.  "  We  had  an  awful  time,"  he 
put  in,  only  to  receive  a  harder  pinch  for  his  pains. 

"  But  you  didn't  see  her,  did  ye?  "  Cobin  asked  eagerly. 


LUCK  RIDES  THE  STORM  93 

Disregarding  the  question,  Billy  continued:  "  The 
tracks  led  us  a  long  ways,  I  kin  tell  you.  We  got  up  into 
the  Scroggie  bush  at  last  an'  then  the  rain  come." 

"  But  we  kept  right  on  trackin — "  put  in  Maurice, 
eagerly.  "  After  the  stars  come  out  again,  of  course,'* 
explained  Billy,  managing  to  skin  Maurice's  shin  with  his 
boot-heel,  "an*  we  found  her — " 

"  You  found  her?  "  cried  Cobin,  leaping  up. 

"  Jest  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Billy. 

"  Good  lads!"  cried  Cobin  heartily,  "  Ma,  hear  that? 
They  found  ol'  Junefly.  Wasn't  that  smart  of  'em,  an* 
in  all  that  rain,  too." 

"  Who'd  you  say  was  agoin'  to  soon  die?  "  Mrs.  Keeler 
put  her  hand  to  her  ear  and  leaned  forward. 

"  I  say  the  boys  found  the  old  sow,  Ma !  "  Cobin  shouted. 

"  They  didf  "  Mrs.  Keeler  turned  towards  Billy  and 
Maurice,  her  face  aglow.  "  An'  was  that  what  they  was 
adoin'?  Now  I'm  right  sorry  I  spoke  harsh.  I  am  so. 
Ain't  yon,  Mrs.  Wilson?  " 

"  Oh,  I  must  say  that  Willium  does  do  somethin'  worth 
while,  once  in  a  long  while,"  returned  her  neighbor,  grudg- 
ingly. "  But  Anson,  now —  " 

Mrs.  Keeler  broke  in.  "  Anson,  humph!  Why,  that  boy 
had  the  nerve  to  say  that  I  should  give  him  ten  cents  fer 
watchin '  the  kettle  while  them  two  dear  boys  was  out  in  the 
storm,  huntin'  fer  Pa's  sow.  I  give  him  a  box  on  the  ear 
instead  an'  sent  him  home  on  the  jump.  Maybe  I  was  a  bit 
hasty  but  I  was  mad  after  havin'  to  give  that  old  Caleb 
Spencer  a  piece  of  my  mind  fer  sendin '  me  sawdust  instead 
of  groceries.  I  guess  he  won't  try  that  ag'in." 

Billy  moved  towards  the  door.  "I'd  best  be  gettin' 
home,"  he  said,  "I'm  awful  wet." 

"Stay  all  night  with  Maurice,"  invited  Mrs.  Keeler. 


94  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  You  an'  him  kin  pile  right  into  bed  now  and  111  bring 
you  both  a  bowl  of  hot  bread  and  milk." 

Billy  glanced  at  his  mother. 

' '  You  kin  stay  if  your  want  to,  Willium, ' '  she  said, 
"  only  see  that  you  are  home  bright  and  early  in  the 
mornin'.  Your  Pa '11  want  you  to  help  hill  potaters." 

She  stood  up.  "  Well,  Tom,  if  you  and  Cobin  are  through 
with  the  game  don't  start  another.  It's  late  an*  time  all 
decent  folks  was  home  abed." 

Snug  in  Maurice's  corn-husk  bed  in  the  attic,  the  boys  lay 
and  listened  for  the  door  to  open  and  close.  Then  Maurice 
chuckled. 

"  Gee!  Bill,  I  could 'a  knocked  your  head  off  fer  makin' 
me  help  drive  ol'  Junefly  home  but  now  I  see  you  knowed 
what  you  was  doin'.  Holy  smoke!  I  wish't  I  was  as 
smart  as  you." 

' '  Go  to  sleep, ' '  said  Billy  drowsily. 

Half  an  hour  later  when  Mrs.  Keeler  carrying  two  bowls 
of  steaming  bread  and  milk  ascended  the  stairs  Billy  alone 
sat  up  to  reach  for  it. 

"  Is  Maurice  asleep?  "  whispered  the  woman. 

Billy  nodded. 

' '  Well,  you  might  as  well  have  both  bowls  then.  I  don 't 
like  to  see  good  bread  an'  milk  wasted." 

She  set  the  bowls  down  on  the  little  table  beside  the  bed, 
placed  the  lamp  beside  them,  then  leaning  over  tucked  the 
blankets  about  the  boys. 

"  No  use  tryin'  to  wake  Maurice,"  she  said  as  she  turned 
to  go.  "  As  well  try  to  wake  the  dead.  Remember,  you 
boys  get  up  when  I  call  you." 


CHAPTER  IX 

MOVING  THE  MENAGERIE 

Billy  and  Maurice,  taking  the  short  cut  to  the  Wilson 
farm  across  the  rain-drenched  fields  next  morning,  were 
planning  the  day's  programme. 

"  Now  that  we've  got  ol'  Harry's  charm  along  with  my 
rabbit-foot,"  Billy  was  saying,  "  we  ought 'a  be  able  to 
snoop  'round  in  the  ha'nted  grove  an'  even  hunt  through 
the  house  any  time  we  take  the  notion.  Maybe  we'll  get 
a  chance  to  do  it  to-day." 

"  But,  darn  it  all,  Bill,"  Maurice  objected,  "  there  won't 
be  no  ghost  to  lead  the  way  to  the  stuff  in  the  daytime." 

"  Well,  if  we  take  a  look  over  the  place  in  daylight  well 
know  the  lay-out  better  at  night,  won't  we  ?  Trigger  Finger 
Tim  did  that  most  times,  an'  he  always  got  away  clean. 
Supposin'  a  ghost  is  close  at  your  heels,  ain't  it  a  good  idea 
to  have  one  or  two  good  runways  picked  out  to  skip  on? 
We're  goin'  through  that  ha'nted  house  in  daylight,  so  you 
might  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  that. ' ' 

Maurice  was  about  to  protest  further  when  the  rattle  of 
loose  spokes  and  the  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  hard 
road  fell  on  their  ears. 

"  That's  Deacon  Ringold's  buck-board,"  Billy  informed 
his  chum,  drawing  him  behind  an  alder-screened  stump. 
"  Say,  ain't  he  drivin'?  Somebody  must  be  sick  at  his 
place."  Then  as  the  complaining  vehicle  swept  into  sight 
from  around  the  curve,  "  By  crackey,  Maurice,  your  Pa's 
ridin'  with  him." 

Maurice  scratched  his  head  in  perplexity.  "  Wonder 

95 


96  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

where  he's  takin'  Dad?  It's  too  late  fer  sheep-shearin '  an* 
too  early  fer  hog-killin';  an'  that's  'bout  all  Dad's  good 
at  doin',  'cept  leadin'  the  singin'  at  prayer-meetin '.  Won- 
der what's  up?  Gee!  the  deacon  is  sure  puttin'  his  old 
mare  over  the  road." 

' '  Keep  quiet  till  they  get  past, ' '  cautioned  Billy.  '  *  Say ! 
we  needn't  have  been  so  blamed  careful  about  makin'  our 
sneak  if  we'd  knowed  your  Pa  was  away  from  home." 

"Oh,  look,  Bill,"  said  Maurice,  "they're  stoppin'  at 
your  place." 

The  deacon  had  pulled  up  at  the  Wilson's  gate.  "  He's 
shoutin'  fer  Pa,"  Billy  whispered,  as  a  resounding  "  Hello, 
Tom!"  awoke  the  forest  echoes.  "  Come  on  Maurice,  let's 
work  our  way  down  along  this  strip  o'  bushes,  so's  we  kin 
hear  what's  goin'  on." 

The  boys  wriggled  their  way  through  the  thicket  of 
sumach,  and  reached  a  clump  of  golden-rod  inside  the  road 
fence  just  as  Wilson  came  out  of  the  lane. 

"  Mornin',  neighbors,"  he  greeted  the  men  in  the  buck- 
board,  "  won't  you  pull  in?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  deacon,  "  we're  on  our  way  to  Twin 
Oaks,  Thomas.  Thieves  broke  into  Spencer's  store  last 
night.  We're  goin'  up  to  see  if  we  can  be  of  any  use  to 
Caleb.  We'd  like  you  to  come  along." 

Wilson's  exclamation  of  surprise  was  checked  by  Cobin 
Keeler,  whose  long  arm  reached  out  and  encircled  him.  He 
was  lifted  bodily  into  the  seat  and  the  buekboard  dashed 
on  up  the  road,  the  clatter  of  its  loose  spokes  drowning  the 
loud  voices  of  its  occupants. 

The  boys  sat  up  and  stared  at  each  other. 

"  You  heard?  "  Billy  asked  in  awed  tones. 

Maurice  nodded.  "  They  said  thieves  at  the  store." 
Forgotten,  for  the  moment,  was  old  Scroggie's  ghost  and 


MOVING  THE  MENAGERIE  97 

the  buried  treasure  in  this  new  something  which  promised 
mystery  and  adventure. 

"  Hully  Gee!  "  whispered  Billy.  "  Ain't  that  rippin'." 

"  Ain't  it  jest?  "  agreed  Maurice.  "  Say,  Bill,  there 
ain't  no  law  ag'in  shootin'  robbers  is  there  —  store-robbers, 
I  mean?" 

"  Naw,  why  should  there  be?  That's  what  you're  sup- 
posed to  do,  if  you  get  the  chance  —  shoot  'em,  an '  get  the 
reward. ' ' 

"What's  a  reward?  " 

"  Why,  it's  money,  you  ninny!  You  kill  the  robbers  an' 
you  get  the  church  collection  an'  lots  of  other  money  be- 
sides. Then  you're  rich  an'  don't  ever  have  to  do  any 
work;  jest  fish  an'  hunt  an'  give  speeches  at  tea-meetin's 
an'  things." 

"  Oh,  hokey!  ain't  that  great.  How'd  you  come  to  know 
all  that,  Bill?  " 

"  Why  I  read  it  in  Anson's  book,  '  Trigger-Finger  Tim 
er  Dead  er  Alive.'  Oh,  it's  all  hunky,  I  tell  you." 

"  But,  Bill,  how  we  goin'  to  kill  them  robbers?  " 

"  Ain't  goin'  to  kill  'em,"  his  friend  replied.  "  Trig- 
ger-Finger Tim  never  killed  his ;  he  took  'em  all  alive.  All 
he  did  was  arease  their  skulls  with  bullets,  an 'scrape  their 
spines  with  'em,  an'  when  they  come  to  they'd  find  them- 
selves tied  hand  an'  foot,  an'  Trigger-Finger  smokin'  his 
cigarette  an'  smilin'  down  on  'em." 

' '  Gollies !  ' '  exulted  Maurice.  Then  uncertainty  in  his 
tones,  "  A  feller  'ud  have  to  be  a  mighty  good  shot  to  do 
that  though,  Bill." 

"  Oh  shucks!  What's  the  use  of  thinkin'  'bout  that 
now?  We've  gotta  catch  them  robbers  first,  ain't  we?  " 

"  Yep,  that's  so.    But  how?  " 

Billy  wriggled  free  of  the  golden-rod.  "  Come  on  over 
an '  help  me  move  my  menagerie  an '  we  '11  plan  out  a  way. 


98  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

They  climbed  the  fence  and  crossed  the  road  to  the  lane- 
gate. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Billy,  "  you  scoot  through  the  trees 
to  the  root-house,  while  I  go  up  to  the  kitchen  an'  sneak 
some  doughnuts.  Don't  let  Ma  catch  a  glimpse  of  you  er 
she'll  come  lookin'  fer  me  an'  set  me  to  churnin'  er  some- 
thin'  right  under  her  eyes.  An'  see  here,"  he  warned,  as 
Maurice  made  for  the  trees,  "  don't  you  get  to  foolin' 
with  the  snakes  er  owls,  an'  you  best  keep  out  of  ol'  Ring- 
do's  reach,  'cause  he's  a  bad  ol'  swamp  coon  in  some,  ways. 
You  jest  lay  close  till  I  come  back. ' ' 

Whistling  soundlessly,  Billy  went  up  the  path  to  the 
house.  He  peered  carefully  in  through  the  screened  door. 
The  room  was  empty  and  so  was  the  pantry  beyond.  Billy 
entered,  tiptoed  softly  across  to  the  pantry  and  filled  his 
pockets  with  doughnuts  from  the  big  crock  in  the  cupboard. 
Then  he  tip-toed  softly  out  again. 

As  he  rounded  the  kitchen,  preparatory  to  a  leap  across 
the  open  space  between  it  and  the  big  wood-pile,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son's voice  came  to  him,  high-pitched  and  freighted  with 
anger. 

"  You  black,  thievin'  passel  of  impudence,  you!  "  she 
was  saying.  "  If  I  had  a  stick  long  enough  to  reach  you, 
you  'd  never  dirty  any  more  of  my  new-washed  clothes. ' ' 

On  the  top-most  branch  of  a  tall,  dead  pine,  close  beside 
the  wood-pile,  sat  the  tame  crow,  Croaker,  his  head  cocked 
demurely  on  one  side,  as  he  listened  to  the  woman's  right- 
eous abuse.  Croaker  could  no  more  help  filling  his  claws 
with  chips  and  dirt  and  wobbling  the  full  length  of  a  line 
filled  with  snowy,  newly-washed  clothes  than  he  could  help 
upsetting  the  pan  of  water  in  the  chicken-pen,  when  he  saw 
the  opportunity.  He  hated  anything  white  with  all  his  sin- 
ful little  heart  and  he  hated  the  game  rooster  in  the  same 
way.  He  was  always  in  trouble  with  Ma  V,T:lson,  always 


MOVING  THE  MENAGERIE  i) 

in  trouble  with  the  rooster.  Only  when  safe  in  the  highest 
branch  of  the  pine  was  he  secure,  and  in  a  position  to  talk 
back  to  his  persecutors. 

He  said  something  now,  low  and  guttural,  to  the  woman 
shaking  her  fist  at  him  in  impotent  anger.  His  voice  was 
almost  human  in  tone,  his  attitude  so  sinister  that  she  shud- 
dered. "  That's  right,  swear  at  me,  too,"  she  cried,  "  add 
insult  to  injury,  you  black  imp!  If  it  wasn't  fer  bein' 
scared  of  shootin'  myself  I'd  get  the  gun  an'  shoot  you,  I 
would  so!" 

Suddenly  Croaker  stretched  himself  erect.  A  soft 
whistle,  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible  to  the  indignant  woman 
but  clear  to  his  acute  ears,  had  sounded  from  the  far  side 
of  the  wood  pile.  Pausing  only  long  enough  to  locate  the 
sound,  Croaker  spread  his  wings  and  volplaned  down, 
emitting  a  hoarse  croak  of  triumph  almost  in  Mrs.  Wilson 's 
face,  as  he  swept  close  above  her. 

"  Come  here,  you,"  spoke  a  low  voice  as  Croaker  settled 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wood  pile,  and  the  crow  promptly 
perched  himself  on  Billy's  shoulder  with  a  succession  of 
throaty  notes  that  sounded  like  crazy  laughter,  but  which 
were  really  expressions  of  unadulterated  joy.  For  this 
boy  who  had  taken  him  from  the  nest  in  the  swaying  elm 
when  he  was  nothing  but  a  half -feathered,  wide-mouthed 
fledgling,  and  had  fed  him,  cared  for  him,  defended  him 
against  cat,  dog,  rooster  and  human  beings  —  for  this 
boy  alone  Croaker  felt  all  the  love  his  selfish  heart  was 
capable  of  giving. 

And  now  as  Billy  carried  him  towards  the  root-house  he 
recited  the  various  adventures  which  had  been  his  since 
they  had  parted,  recited  them,  it  is  true,  in  hoarse  unin- 
telligible crow-language,  but  which  Billy  was  careful  to 
indicate  he  understood  right  well. 


100  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  So  you  did  all  that,  did  you?  "  he  laughed.  "  Oh, 
but  you're  a  smart  bird.  But  see  here,  if  you  go  on  the 
Way  you're  doin',  dirtyin'  Ma's  clean  clothes  an'  abusin' 
her  like  I  heard  you  doin',  your  light's  goin'  out  sudden 
one  of  these  days.  Ma's  scared  to  shoot  the  ol'  gun  her- 
self, but  shell  get  Anse  to  do  it.  I  guess  I  better  shut 
you  up  on  wash-mornin's  after  this." 

"  What's  he  been  doin'  now,  Bill?  "  asked  Maurice  as 
Billy  and  the  crow  joined  him  beside  the  root-house. 

"  Oh,  he's  been  raisin'  high  jinks  with  Ma  ag'in,"  ex- 
plained Billy.  "  He  will  get  his  claws  full  o'  dirt  an' 
pigeon-toe  along  her  line  of  clean  clothes,  as  soon  as  her 
back's  turned." 

"  Gosh!  ain't  he  a  terror?  "  Maurice  exclaimed.  "  Say, 
why  don't  you  put  him  in  the  menagerie'  " 

"  Maurice,  you've  got  about  as  much  sense  as  a  wood- 
tick,"  Billy  replied  in  disgust.  "  How  long  d'ye  s'pose 
my  snakes  an'  bats  an'  lizards  'ud  last  if  I  turned  Croaker 
loose  in  there?1 " 

"  Pshaw!  Bill,  he  couldn't  hurt  Spotba,  the  womper, 
could  he?  " 

"  Jest  couldn't  he?  I'll  take  you  down  to  the  marsh 
some  day  an'  show  you  how  quick  he  kin  kill  a  womper." 

"  Gollies!  Is  that  so?  Well  he  couldn't  hurt  the  black 
snake;  that's  one  sure  thing." 

"  No,  it  ain't,  'cause  he  kin  kill  a  black  snake  a  sight 
easier  than  he  kin  a  womper,  an'  111  tell  you  why.  Black- 
snakes  have  got  teeth.  They  bite.  But  their  backbone  is 
easy  broke.  A  womper  hasn't  any  teeth.  He  strikes  with 
his  bony  nose.  You  know  what  one  of  them  snakes  kin 
do?  You  saw  that  big  one,  down  in  Patterson's  swamp 
lay  open  Moll's  face  with  one  slash.  They're  thick  necked, 
an'  take  a  lot  of  killin'.  This  crow  kin  kill  a  black-snake 


MOVING  THE  MENAGERIE  101 

with  one  slash  of  his  bill.    He  has  to  choke  the  womper  to 
death." 

Maurice  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  Say,  you 
know  a  lot  about  snakes  an'  things,  don't  you?  "  he  said 
admiringly. 

"  Maybe  I  do,  but  I  ain't  tellin'  all  I  know/'  said  Billy. 
"  What's  the  good?    Nobody  'ud  believe  me." 
' '  What  you  mean,  believe  you  ? ' ' 

"  Why,  if  I  said  I  saw  a  fight  between  a  little  brown 
water-snake  no  bigger 'n  a  garter  snake,  an'  a  fish-hawk,  an' 
the  snake  licked  the  hawk,  d'ye  s'pose  anyone  'ud  believe 
that!  " 

"  I  dunno.    Maybe,  an'  maybe  not." 
"  Supposin'  I  said  the  snake  killed  the  Tiaiokf  " 
"  Oh,  gee  whitticker!  nobody  'ud  believe  that,  Bill." 
"  There  now.    Nobody  'ud  believe  it.    An'  yet  I  saw  it." 
"  You  saw  it?  "  Maurice,  who  could  not  think  of  ques- 
tioning his  chum's  word,  gasped  in  amazement. 

"  Yep,  I  saw  it  last  spring  —  in  the  Eau  rice  beds,  it 
was.  I  was  tryin'  to  find  a  blue-winged  teal's  nest.  Saw 
the  drake  trail  off  an'  knowed  the  duck  must  be  settin' 
somewhere  on  the  high  land  close  beside  the  pond.  As  I 
was  standin'  still,  lookin'  about,  this  little  water  snake 
come  swimmin'  'cross  a  mushrat  run.  Jest  then  I  saw  a 
shadder  cross  the  reeds,  an'  a  fish-hawk  swooped  down  an' 
made  a  grab  at  the  snake.  The  snake  dived  an'  come  up 
close  to  shore.  The  hawk  wheeled  an'  swooped  ag'in.  This 
time  the  water  was  too  shallow  fer  snakie  to  get  clear  away. 
The  hawk  grabbed  him  in  his  claws  an'  started  up  with 
him.  '  Goodbye,  little  snake,'  I  thought,  an'  jest  then  I 
noticed  that  the  hawk  was  havin'  trouble;  fer  one  thing, 
he  wasn't  flyin'  straight,  an'  he  was  strikin'  with  his 
curved  beak  without  findin'  anythin'.  Pretty  soon  he 


102  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

started  saggin'  down  to  the  reeds.  I  jumped  into  the  punt 
an'  made  fer  the  spot  where  I  thought  he'd  come  down. 
Jest  as  I  got  there  he  splashed  into  the  shallow  water.  I 
stood  up  in  the  punt,  an'  then  I  saw  what  had  happened. 
The  little  water-snake  had  coiled  round  the  hawk's  neck 
an'  had  kept  its  head  close  under  his  throat.  You  know 
that  a  water  snake  has  two  little  saw  teeth,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  upper  jaw.  I've  often  wondered  what  good  a 
pair  of  teeth  like  that  could  be  to  'em,  but  I  don't  any 
more,  'cause  that  little  snake  had  cut  that  hawk's  throat 
with  them  snags  an'  saved  himself." 

"  An'  so  he  got  away !  "  sighed  Maurice. 

"  "Well,  he  should  have,  but  I  didn't  let  him.  I  thought 
I'd  like  to  own  a  snake  as  plucky  as  that,  so  I  caught  him — 
didn't  have  no  trouble,  he  was  awful  tired — an'  brought 
him  up  here  to  the  menagerie." 

Maurice  whistled.  "  Gee!  Bill,  you  don't  mean  t'  tell 
me  that  water-snake  you  call  Hawk-killer  is  him?  " 

"  Yep,  that's  him.  Now,"  he  cried  tossing  Croaker  into 
a  tree,  "111  tell  you  what  we  gotta  do.  We  gotta  move 
these  pets  down  to  that  old  sugar-shanty  in  our  woods. 
Ma's  got  so  nervous  with  havin'  'em  here  that  I'm  afraid 
Anse  might  take  it  in  his  head  to  let  'em  out,  er  kill  'em. 
I've  got  'em  all  boxed  nice  an'  snug.  All  I  want  yon  to  do 
is  help  me  carry  'em.  We  can  do  it  in  two  trips.  Ringdo, 
of  course,  '11  stay  along  up  here.  Ma's  not  scared  of  him 
like  she  is  of  the  other  things.  Come  along." 

He  unpropped  the  root-house  door  and  threw  it  open. 
Maurice  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  peering  into  the 
darkness. 

"Are  you  sure  you've  got  'em  boxed  safe,  Bill?  "  he 
asked,  fearfully. 

"  Bet  ye  I  am." 


MOVING  THE  MENAGERIE  103 

"  Then,  here's  fer  it,  but  I  must  say  I'll  be  glad  when 
the  job's  done,"  shivered  Maurice,  following  his  chum  into 
the  blackness  of  the  root-house. 

Croaker  hopped  to  a  lower  branch  and  peered  in  after  his 
master.  Then,  catching  sight  of  a  doughnut  which  had 
spilled  from  Billy 's  pocket,  he  fluttered  down  to  the  ground, 
and  with  many  caressing  croaks  proceeded  to  make  a  meal 
of  it. 


CHAPTER  X 
IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP 

The  August  days  were  passing  swiftly,  each  fragrant 
dawn  marking  another  step  towards  that  inevitable  some- 
thing whieh  must  be  faced  —  the  reopening  of  the  Valley 
School  by  a  new  teacher.  Billy's  heart  saddened  as  the 
fields  ripened  and  the  woods  turned  red  and  gold.  For 
once  his  world  was  out  of  tune.  Maurice  Keeler  was  sick 
with  measles  and  Elgin  Scraff  lay  ill  with  the  same  disease. 
Taking  advantage  of  this  fact,  the  Sand-sharkers  had  grown 
bold,  some  of  the  more  venturesome  of  them  going  even  so 
far  as  to  challenge  Billy  to  "  knock  the  chip  off  their 
shoulders." 

Billy  had  not  only  accommodated  the  trouble-seekers  in 
this  regard  but  had  nearly  knocked  the  noses  off  their 
freckled  faces  as  well,  after  which  he  had  proceeded  to 
lick,  on  sight,  each  and  every  Sand-sharker  with  whom  his 
lonely  rambles  brought  him  in  contact.  But  his  victories 
lacked  the  old  time  zest.  He  missed  Maurice's  "  Gee! 
Bill,  that  left  swing  to  his  eye  was  a  corker  ' ' ;  missed 
Elgin's  offer  to  bet  a  thousand  dollars  that  Billy  Wilson 
could  lick,  with  one  hand  tied  behind  him,  any  two  Sand- 
sharkers  that  ever  smelled  a  smoked  herrin'.  Victory  was 
indeed  empty  of  glory.  And  so  the  glad  days  were  sad 
days  for  Billy.  It  was  an  empty  world.  What  boy  in 
Billy's  place  would  not  have  been  low-spirited  under  like 
conditions?  What  boy  would  not  have  paused,  as  he  was 
doing  now,  to  itemize  his  woes? 

He  was  seated  on  a  stump  in  the  new  clearing  which 

104 


IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP  105 

sloped  to  Levee  Creek,  fingers  locked  about  one  knee,  bat- 
tered felt  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes.  The  green  slope  at  his 
feet  lay  half  in  the  sunlight,  half  in  the  shadow.  Across 
from  a  patch  of  golden-rod,  the-  cock  bird  of  a  fox-scattered 
quail-covey  whistled  the  "  All's  Well  "  call  to  the  birds 
in  hiding.  Ordinarily  Billy  would  have  answered  that  call, 
would  have  drawn  the  brown,  scuttling  birds  close  about 
him  with  the  low-whistled  notes  he  could  produce  so  well ; 
but  today  he  was  oblivious  to  all  save  his  thoughts. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  the  robbery  of  the  Twin 
Oaks  store  and  that  which  he  and  Maurice  had  planned  to 
do  towards  finding  the  Scroggie  will  and  capturing  the 
thieves  had,  through  dire  necessity,  been  abandoned.  Sick- 
ness had  claimed  Maurice  just  when  he  was  most  needed. 
For  days  Billy  had  lived  a  sort  of  trancelike  existence; 
had  gone  about  acting  queerly,  refusing  his  meals  and 
paying  little  attention  to  anybody  or  anything. 

It  had  become  a  regular  thing  for  hia  father  to  say  each 
morning,  "  I  guess  you  ain't  feelin'  up  to  much  today, 
Billy;  so  all  you  have  to  do  is  watch  the  gap  and  water 
the  cattle  ";  which  was  quite  agreeable  to  Billy,  because 
it  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  be  by  himself.  Men  who 
sit  in  the  shadow  of  irrevocable  fate  are  always  that  way ; 
v  Ley  want  to  be  left  alone  —  murderers  on  the  eve  of  their 
execution,  captains  on  wrecked  ships,  Trigger  Finger  Tim, 
who  was  to  be  shot  at  sunrise,  but  wasn't. 

Billy  wanted  to  shadow  old  Scroggie 's  ghost  and  so  dis- 
cover the  will;  he  wanted  to  seek  out  the  robbers  of  the 
Twin  Oaks  store  and  earn  a  reward;  he  wanted  Maurice 
Keeler  with  him;  he  wanted  to  hear  Elgin  Scraff's  laugh. 
But  all  this  was  denied  him.  And  now  a  new  burden  had 
bean  thrust  upon  him,  compared  with  which  all  his  other 
woes  seemed  trivial.  Old  Scroggie 's  namesake  and  ap- 


106  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

parent  hpir  had  turned  up  again.  Billy  had  seen  him  with 
his  own  eyes;  with  his  own  ears  had  heard  him  declare 
that  he  intended  to  erect  a  saw-mill  in  the  thousand-acre 
forest.  This  meant  that  the  big  hardwood  wonderland 
would  be  wiped  away  and  that  Frank  Stanhope  would 
never  inherit  what  was  rightfully  his. 

It  seemed  like  an  evil  dream,  but  Billy  knew  it  was  no 
dream.  Scroggie,  astride  a  big  bay  horse,  had  passed  him 
while  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  store  with  a  basket  of  eggs 
for  his  mother,  and  he  had  pulled  in  at  the  store  just  as 
Deacon  Eingold  had  taken  the  last  available  space  on  the 
customers'  bench  outside,  and  Caleb  Spencer  had  come  to 
the  door  to  peer  through  the  twilight  in  search  of  the 
Clearview  stage,  which  was  late.  Noticing  the  stranger 
on  horseback  Caleb  had  hurried  forward  to  ask  how  best 
he  could  serve  him. 

Hidden  safely  behind  a  clump  of  cedars  Billy  had 
watched  and  listened.  He  had  heard  Scroggie  tell  the  store- 
keeper that  he  and  his  family  had  come  to  Scotia  to  stay 
and  that  he  intended  to  cut  down  the  timber  of  the  big 
woods.  He  had  then  demanded  that  Spencer  turn  over  to 
him  a  certain  document  which  it  seemed  old  man  Scroggie 
had  left  in  Caleb's  charge  some  months  before  his  death. 
Billy  had  seen  Spencer  draw  the  man  a  little  apart  from 
the  others,  who  had  gathered  close  through  curiosity,  and 
had  heard  him  explain  that  the  paper  had  been  taken 
from  his  safe  on  the  night  of  the  robbery  of  his  store. 
Scroggie  had,  at  first,  seemed  to  doubt  Caleb's  word;  then 
he  had  grown  abusive  and  had  raised  his  riding-whip 
threateningly.  Here  Billy,  having  heard  and  seen  quite 
enough,  had  acted.  Placing  his  basket  gently  down  on 
the  sward  he  had  picked  up  an  egg  and  with  the  accuracy 
born  of  long  practice  in  throwing  stones,  had  sent  it  crash- 


IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP  107 

ing  into  Scroggie 's  face.  Gasping  and  temporarily  blinded, 
Scroggie  had  wheeled  his  horse  and  galloped  away. 

But  today  Billy,  musing  darkly,  knew  that  Scroggie 
would  do  what  he  had  said  he  would  do.  The  big  woods 
was  his,  according  to  law;  he  could  do  as  he  wished  with 
it,  and  he  would  wipe  it  out. 

With  a  sigh,  Billy  slid  from  the  stump  and  stood  look- 
ing away  toward  the  east.  What  would  Trigger  Finger 
Tim  do  in  his  place?  When  confronted  by  insurmount- 
able obstacles  Trigger  Finger  had  been  wont  to  seek  excite- 
ment and  danger.  That's  what  he,  Billy,  would  do  now. 
But  where  was  excitement  and  danger  to  be  found?  Ah, 
he  knew  —  Lost  Man's  Swamp! 

Billy's  right  hand  went  into  a  trouser's  pocket;  then 
nervously  his  left  dived  into  the  other  pocket.  With  a 
sigh  of  relief  he  drew  out  a  furry  object  about  the  size 
of  a  pocket-knife. 

"  01'  Rabbit-foot  charm,"  he  said,  aloud.  "I  jest 
might  need  you  bad  today."  Then  he  turned  and  walked 
quickly  across  the  fallow  toward  the  causeway. 

Some  three  miles  east  of  the  imaginary  line  which  divided 
the  Settlement  from  the  outside  world,  on  the  Lake  Shore 
road,  stood  a  big  frame  house  in  a  grove  of  tall  walnut 
trees.  It  was  the  home  of  a  man  named  Hinter  —  a  man 
of  mystery.  Before  it  the  lake  flashed  blue  as  a  king- 
fisher's wing  through  the  cedars;  behind  it  swept  a  tangle 
of  forest  which  gradually  dwarfed  into  a  stretch  of  swamp- 
willow  and  wild  hazel-nut  bushes,  which  in  turn  gave  place 
to  marshy  bog-lands. 

Lost  Man's  Swamp,  so  called  because  it  was  said  that 
one  straying  into  its  depths  never  was  able  to  extricate 
himself  from  its  overpowering  mists  and  treacherous 
quicksands,  was  lonely  and  forsaken.  It  lay  like  a  fester- 


108  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

ing  sore  on.  the  breast  of  the  world — black,  menacing, 
hungry  to  gulp,  dumb  as  to  those  mysteries  and  tragedies 
it  had  witnessed.  It  was  whispered  that  the  devil  made 
his  home  in  its  pitchy  ponds,  which  even  in  the  fiercest 
cold  of  winter  did  not  freeze. 

For  Billy,  who  knew  and  understood  so  well  the  sweep- 
ing wilderness  of  silence  and  mysteries,  this  swamp  held 
a  dread  which,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  analyze.  On 
one  other  occasion  had  he  striven  to  penetrate  it,  but  as  if 
the  bogland  recognized  in  him  a  force  not  easily  set  aside, 
it  had  enwrapped  him  with  its  deadly  mists  which  chilled 
and  weakened,  torn  his  flesh  with  its  razor-edged  grass  and 
sucked  at  his  feet  with  its  oozy,  dragging  quicksajids.  He 
had  turned  back  in  time.  For  two  weeks  following  his 
exploit  he  had  lain  ill  with  ague,  shivering  miserably,  silent, 
but  thinking. 

And  now  he  was  back  again;  and  this  time  he  did  not 
intend  to  risk  his  life  in  those  sucking  sands.  From  a 
couple  of  dead  saplings,  with  the  aid  of  wild  grape-vines, 
he  fashioned  a  light  raft  which  would  serve  as  a  support 
in  the  bog,  and  carry  his  weight  in  the  putrid  mire  beyond. 
Strange  sounds  came  to  his  ears  as  he  worked  his  way 
across  the  desolate  waste  toward  the  first  great  pond  — 
scurrying,  rustling  sounds  of  hidden  things  aroused  from 
their  security.  Once  a  big  grey  snake  stirred  from  torpor 
to  lift  its  head  and  hiss  at  him.  Billy  lifted  it  aside  with 
his  pole  and  went  on. 

Great  mosquitoes  whined  about  his  head  and  stung  his 
neck  and  ears.  Mottled  flies  bit  him  and  left  a  burning 
smart.  The  saw-like  edges  of  the  grass  cut  his  hands  and 
strove  to  trip  him  as  he  pushed  his  improvised  raft  for- 
ward. Once  his  foot  slipped  on  the  greasy  bog,  and  the 
quicksands  all  but  claimed  him.  But  he  pushed  on,  reach- 


IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP  109 

ing  at  last  the  black  sullen  shallows,  putrid  and  ill-smelling 
with  decayed  growth,  and  alive  with  hideous  insects. 

Great,  black  leeches  clung  to  the  slimy  lily-roots;  water 
lizards  lay  basking  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water,  or 
crept  furtively  from  under-water  grotto  to  grotto.  And 
there  were  other  things  which  Billy  knew  were  hidden  from 
his  sight  —  things  even  more  loathsome.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  experienced  for  Nature  a  feeling  akin 
to  dread  and  loathing.  It  was  like  a  nightmare  to  him, 
menacing,  unreal,  freighted  with  strange  horrors. 

One  thing  Billy  saw  which  he  could  not  understand.  The 
greasy  surface  of  the  shallow  pond  was  never  still,  but 
bubbled  incessantly  as  porridge  puffs  and  bubbles  when  it 
boils.  It  was  as  if  the  slimy  creatures  buried  in  the  ©ozy 
bottom  belched  forth  their  poisonous  breath  as  they  stirred 
in  sleep. 

So  here  lay  the  reason  that  the  swamp-waters  never 
froze  even  when  whiter  locked  all  other  waters  fast  in 
its  icy  clutch!  What  caused  those  air  bubbles,  if  air 
bubbles  they  were  ? 

At  last,  sick  and  dizzy,  he  turned  from  the  place  and 
with  raft  and  pole  fought  his  way  back  to  the  shore.  Never 
again,  he  told  himself,  would  he  try  to  fathom  further  what 
lay  in  Lost  Man's  Swamp.  Weary  and  perspiring,  he 
climbed  the  wooded  upland.  He  turned  and  dipped  into 
the  willows,  intending  to  take  the  shortest  way  home 
through  the  hardwoods.  On  top  of  the  beech  knoll  he 
paused  for  a  moment  to  let  his  eyes  rest  on  the  big  house 
in  the  walnut  grove.  In  some  vague  way  his  mind  con- 
nected its  owner  with  that  dead  waste  of  stinking  marsh. 
Why,  he  wondered,  had  Hinter  chosen  this  lonely  spot 
on  which  to  build  his  home  ?  As  he  turned  to  strike  across 
the  neck  of  woods  between  him  and  the  causeway  the  man 


110  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

about  whom  he  had  just  been  thinking  stepped  out  from 
a  clump  of  hazel-nut  bushes  directly  in  his  path. 

"  Why,  hello,  Billy,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  Out  cap- 
turing more  wild  things  for  the  menagerie?  " 

Hinter  possessed  a  well  modulated  voice  whose  accent 
bespoke  refinement  and  education.  He  had  come  into  the 
Settlement  about  a  year  ago  from  no  one  knew  where, 
apparently  possessed  of  sufficient  money  to  do  as  he  pleased. 
An  aged  colored  woman  kept  house  for  him.  He  held  aloof 
from  his  neighbors,  was  reticent  in  manner,  but  nothing 
could  be  said  against  him.  He  led  an  exemplary  if  some- 
what secluded  life,  gave  freely  to  the  church  which  he 
never  attended,  and  was  respected  by  the  people  of  Scotia. 
With  the  children  he  was  a  great  favorite.  He  was  a  tall 
man,  gaunt  and  strong  of  frame  and  well  past  middle  age. 
His  face  was  grave  and  his  blue  eyes  steady.  He  was  fond 
of  hunting  and  usually  wore  —  as  he  was  wearing  today — 
a  suit  of  corduroys.  He  kept  a  pair  of  ferocious  dogs,  why 
nobody  knew,  for  they  never  accompanied  him  on  his 
hunts. 

He  smiled  now  as  he  noted  Billy's  quick  look  of  appre- 
hension. 

"  No,  Billy,"  he  assured  the  boy,  "  Sphinx  and  Dexter 
aren't  with  me  today,  so  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
them.  I  doubt  if  they  would  hurt  you,  anyway,"  he  added. 
"  You  can  handle  most  dogs,  I  am  told." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  no  dog.  Mr.  Hinter,'*  said  Billy, 
"  but  I've  been  told  your  dogs  are  half  wolf.  Is  that  so?  " 

Hinter  laughed.  "  Well,  hardly,"  he  returned.  "  They 
are  thoroughbred  Great  Danes,  although  Sphinx  and  Dexter 
both  have  wolf  natures,  I  fear." 

"  Is  that  why  people  don't  go  near  your  place,  'cause 
they're  scared  of  the  dogs?  "  Billy  asked. 


IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP  111 

Hinter 's  face  grew  grave.  "  Perhaps,"  he  answered. 
"  I  hope  it  is." 

' '  Then  why  don 't  you  get  rid  of  'em  ?  ' ' 

Hinter  shook  his  head.  "  Nobody  would  have  them, 
they  're  too  savage ;  and  I  haven 't  the  heart  to  make  away 
with  them,  because  they  are  fond  of  me.  I've  had  those 
dogs  a  long  time,  Billy." 

"  I  understan',"  said  Billy,  sympathetically. 

Hinter  put  his  hand  in  his  coat  pocket  and  drew  out 
an  ivory  dog-whistle.  "  Would  you  like  to  know  them, 
Billy  ?  "  he  asked,  his  keen  eyes  on  the  boy 's  face. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind,"  said  Billy. 

Hinter  put  the  whistle  to  his  lips  and  sent  a  warbling 
call  through  the  woods.  "  Stand  perfectly  still,"  he  said, 
as  he  placed  the  whistle  back  in  his  pocket.  "  I  won't  let 
them  hurt  you.  Here  they  come  now." 

The  next  instant  two  great  dogs  plunged  from  the  thicket, 
their  heavy  jaws  open  and  dripping  and  their  deep  eyes 
searching  for  their  master  and  the  reason  for  his  call. 

Standing  with  feet  planted  wide  Billy  felt  his  heart  beat 
quickly.  "  Easy,  Sphinx!  "  Hinter  cried,  as  the  larger 
of  the  two  sprang  toward  the  boy.  Immediately  the  dog 
sank  down,  the  personification  of  submission ;  but  it 's  blood- 
shot eyes  flashed  up  at  Billy  and  in  them  the  boy  glimpsed 
a  spirit  unquelled. 

"  Be  careful,  Billy.  Don't  touch  him!  "  warned  Hinter, 
but  he  spoke  too  late.  Billy  had  bent  and  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  the  dog's  quivering  back.  The  low  growl  died  in 
the  animal's  throat.  Slowly  his  heavy  muzzle  was  lifted 
until  his  nose  touched  Billy's  cheek.  Then  his  long  flail- 
like  tail  began  to  wag. 

"  Boy,  you're  a  wonder!  "  Hinter  cried.  "  But  you 
took  a  terrible  chance.  Dexter!  "  he  said  to  the  other 


112  A  SON  OP  COURAGE 

dog,  "  don't  you  want  to  be  friends  with  this  wild-animal 
tamer,  too?  " 

Billy,  his  arm  about  Sphinx's  neck,  spoke.  "  Come,  ol' 
feller;  come  here,"  he  said. 

The  great  dog  rose  and  came  slowly  across  to  him. 
"  Good  boy!  "  Billy  slapped  him  roughly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  he  whined. 

"  Well,  it's  beyond  me,"  confessed  Hinter.  "  I've  heard 
that  you  could  handle  dogs,  young  fellow,  but  I  didn't 
think  there  was  anybody  in  the  world  besides  myself  who 
could  bring  a  whimper  of  gladness  from  that  pair.  Now 
then,  Dexter !  Sphinx !  away  home  with  you. ' '  Obediently 
the  big  dogs  wheeled  back  into  the  thicket. 

Billy  started  to  move  away.  "  I  must  be  gettin'  home," 
he  said.  "  The  eows  '11  be  waitin'  to  be  watered." 

"  Well,  I'll  just  walk  along  with  you  as  far  as  the 
Causeway,"  said  Hinter.  "  My  saddle-horse  has  wandered 
off  somewhere.  I  have  an  idea  he  made  for  Ringold's 
slashing." 

He  fell  in  beside  Billy,  adjusting  his  stride  to  the  shorter 
one  of  the  boy.  In  silence  they  walked  until  they  reached 
a  rise  of  land  which  had  been  cleared  of  all  varieties  of 
trees  except  maples.  Sap-suckers  twittered  as  they  hung 
head  downward  and  red  squirrels  chattered  shrilly.  In  a 
cleared  spot  in  the  wood,  beside  a  spring-fed  creek,  stood 
a  sugar-shanty,  two  great  cauldrons,  upside  down,  gleaming 
like  black  eyes  from  its  shadowy  interior.  A  pile  of  wooden 
sap-troughs  stood  just  outside  the  shanty  door. 

Billy's  eyes  brightened  as  they  swept  the  big  sugar-bush. 
Many  a  spicy  spring  night  had  he  enjoyed  here,  "  sugarin* 
off  »» —  he  and  Teacher  Stanhope.  The  brightness  faded 
from  his  eyes  and  his  lip  quivered.  Never  again  would 
the  man  who  was  boy-friend  to  him  point  out  the  frost- 


IN  LOST  MAN'S  SWAMP  113 

cleared  stars  that  swam  low  down  above  the  maples  and 
describe  to  him  their  wonders.  Those  stars  were  shut  out 
from  him  forever,  as  were  the  tints  of  skies  and  flowers  and 
all  glad  lights  of  the  world. 

Hinter's  voice  brought  him  back  to  himself.  "  He  is 
blind,  they  teU  me,  Billy." 

Billy  gazed  at  him  wonderingly.  "  How  did  you  know 
I  was  thinkin'  of  Mm?  "  he  asked. 

Hinter  smiled.  "  Never  mind,"  he  said  gently.  "  And 
how  is  he  standing  it?  " 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  the  boy's  face.  "  Like  a  man," 
he  answered  shortly. 

Hinter's  eyes  fell  away  from  that  steady  gaze.  Billy 
turned  towards  the  log-span  across  the  creek,  then  paused 
to  ask  suddenly:  "  Mr.  Hinter,  who  owns  that  Lost  Man's 
Swamp?  Do  you?" 

The  man  started.  "  No,"  he  answered,  I  don't  own  it 
exactly,  but  I  hope  to  soon.  It  is  part  of  the  Scroggie 
property.  I  am  negotiating  now  with  Scroggie 's  heir  for 
it.  It  is  useless,  of  course,  but  I  desire  to  own  it  for  rea- 
sons known  only  to  myself." 

' '  But  supposin '  ol '  Scroggie 's  lost  will  comes  to  light  ?  ' ' 

"  Then,  of  course,  it  will  divert  to  Mr.  Stanhope," 
answered  Hinter.  "  I  must  confess,"  he  added,  "  I  doubt 
very  strongly  if  Mr.  Scroggie  ever  made  a  will." 

Billy  was  silent,  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  They 
crossed  the  bridge,  passed  through  a  beech  ridge  and  de- 
scended a  mossy  slope  to  the  Causeway  fence.  As  they  sat 
for  a  moment's  rest  on  its  topmost  rail,  Hinter  spoke 
abruptly.  ' '  I  saw  you  fighting  your  way  across  the  swamp 
this  afternoon,  Billy.  Weren't  you  taking  a  useless  risk?  " 

Billy  made  no  reply. 

"  You  are  either  a  very  brave  boy  or  a  very  foolish 


114  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

one,"  said  Hinter.  "  Will  you  tell  me  what  prompted 
you  to  dare  what  no  other  person  in  the  Settlement  would 
dare?  Was  it  simply  curiosity?  " 

"  I  guess  maybe  it  was,"  Billy  confessed.  "  Anyways 
I've  got  all  I  want  of  it.  It'll  be  a  long  time  afore  you 
see  me  there  ag'in." 

Hinter 's  sigh  of  relief  was  inaudible  to  the  boy.  "  That's 
a  good  resolve,"  he  commended.  "  Stick  to  it ;  that  swamp 
is  a  treacherous  place." 

"  It's  awful,"  said  Billy  in  awed  tones.  "  I  got  as  far 
as  the  first  pond.  It  was  far  enough  for  me." 

"  You  got  as  far  as  the  pond  I  "  Hinter  cried  in  wonder. 
The  eyes  turned  on  Billy's  face  were  searching.  "  And 
you  found  only  a  long  shallow  of  stagnant,  stinking  water, 
I'll  be  bound,"  he  laughed,  uneasily. 

"  I  found —  "  Billy  commenced,  his  mind  flashing  back 
to  the  bubbling  geysers  of  the  pond — then  chancing  to 
catch  the  expression  in  Hinter 's  face  he  finished,  "  jest 
what  you  said,  a  big  pond  of  stinkin'  dead  water,  crawlin' 
with  all  kinds  of  blood-suckers  an'  things." 

He  leaped  from  the  fence.  "  Good  bye,"  he  called  back 
over  his  shoulder.  "  I  hear  old  Cherry  bawlin'  fer  her 
drink." 

Hinter  was  still  seated  on  the  fence  when  Billy  turned 
the  curve  in  the  road.  "  I  wonder  what  he  wants  of  Lost 
Man's  Swamp,"  mused  the  boy.  "  An'  I  wonder  what 
he's  scared  somebody  '11  find  there?  " 


CHAPTER  XI 
EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY 

As  Billy  rounded  a  curve  in  the  road  he  met  the  cattle. 
Anson  was  driving  them.  ' '  You  needn't  mind  turnin'  back, 
Bill,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  mind  waterin'  'em  fer  you." 

Billy  whistled.  "  Gosh!  you're  gettin'  kind  all  at  once, 
Anse,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  don't  mind  doin'  it,"  Anse  repeated.  He  kept  his 
face  averted.  Billy,  scenting  mystery,  walked  over  to  him 
and  swung  him  about.  Anson 's  lip  was  swollen  and  one 
eye  was  partly  closed  and  his  freckled  face  bore  the  marks 
of  recent  conflict. 

"  Gee  whitticker !  "  gasped  Billy,  "  you  must  been  havin' 
an  argument  with  a  mule.  Who  give  you  that  black  eye 
an'  split  lip,  Anse?  " 

His  brother  hung  his  head.  "  You  needn't  go  to  rubbin' 
it  in, ' '  he  whined ;  "  I  didn  't  have  no  chance  with  him.  He 
piled  on  me  from  behind,  when  I  wasn't  lookin'." 

' '  Who  piled  on  you  from  behind  ?  ' ' 

"  That  new  boy;  his  name's  Jim  Scroggie.  His  dad's 
rented  the  Stanley  house  on  the  hill." 

"  Likely  story  that  about  his  pilin'  on  you  from  behind," 
scoffed  Billy.  "  You  met  him  on  the  path  an'  tried  to  get 
gay  with  him,  more  like,  an'  he  pasted  you  a  few.  You 
shouldn  't  hunt  trouble,  Anse ;  you  can 't  fight,  an '  you  know 
it.  What's  this  new  boy  like?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

' '  Oh,  you  '11  find  that  out  soon  enough, ' '  promised  Anson. 
"  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  would  do  the  same  thing 
to  you  first  chance  he  got. ' ' 

115 


116  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Oh,  no,  he  didn't  neither,"  laughed  Billy.  "  He  can't 
"be  that  foolish. ' ' 

"  You  wait  till  you  size  him  up,"  said  Anson.  "  He's 
taller 'n  you  are  an'  heavier,  too.  Oh,  you'll  have  your 
hands  full  when  he  tackles  you,  Mister  Scrapper-Bill." 

Billy  pinched  off  a  fox-tail  stock  and  chewed  it  thought- 
fully. "  Maybe,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  He  certainly 
tapped  you  some,  but  then  you're  always  huntin'  trouble, 
an'  it  serves  you  right." 

' '  Listen  to  me !  ' '  Anson  cried.  ' '  He  made  all  the  trou- 
ble, I  tell  you.  All  I  did  was  tell  him  not  to  throw  clubs 
at  Eingdo —  " 

"  What!  Was  he  throwin'  clubs  at  my  coon?  "  Billy 
shouted. 

"  You  bet  he  was.  Had  Ringdo  up  a  tree  an'  was  doin' 
his  best  to  knock  him  out. ' ' 

Billy  spit  out  the  fox-tail.  "  Where's  this  feller  Scroggie 
now?  "  he  asked,  in  a  business-like  tone. 

"  I  dunno.  I  s'pose  he's  prowlin'  'round  the  beech 
grove,  up  there.  He  said  he  intended  lickin'  every  boy  in 
this  settlement  on  sight.  You  best  not  go  lookin'  fer  him, 
Bill.  I  don't  want 'a  see  you  get  beat  up  on  my  account." 

"  Well  you  needn't  worry;  if  I  get  beat  up  it  won't  be 
on  your  account,  I  kin  tell  you  that.  I  don 't  aim  to  let  any- 
body throw  clubs  at  my  pets,  though.  You  drive  the  cattle 
on  down;  I'm  goin'  up  to  the  grove." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  lit  Anson 's  shifty  eyes.  "All 
right, ' '  he  said  shortly,  and  went  off  after  the  herd. 

Billy  climbed  the  rail  fence  and  crossed  the  basswood 
swale  to  the  highland.  He  approached  the  beech  grove 
cautiously  and  peered  about  him.  Seated  on  a  log  at  the 
lower  end  of  a  grassy  glade  was  a  boy  about  his  own  age, 
a  boy  with  round,  bullet  head  poised  on  a  thick  neck  set 
between  square  shoulders. 


EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY  117 

Billy,  taking  his  measure  with  one  fleeting  glance,  stepped 
out  from  the  trees.  Simultaneously  the  strange  boy  rose 
slowly,  head  lowered,  fists  clenched.  There  was  nothing 
antagonistic  in  Billy 's  attitude  as  he  surveyed  the  new  boy 
with  serious  grey  eyes.  That  expression  had  fooled  more 
than  one  competitor  in  fistic  combat,  and  it  fooled  Jim 
Scroggie  now.  "  He's  scared  stiff,"  was  the  new  boy's 
thought,  as  he  swaggered  forward  to  where  Billy  stood. 

"  I've  been  waitin'  for  you  and  now  I'm  goin'  to  lick 
you,"  he  said. 

Billy  eyed  him  appraisingly.  He  did  look  like  a  tough 
proposition,  no  doubt  about  that.  His  face  was  round, 
flat,  small-featured.  "  That  face  '11  stand  a  lot  of  pum- 
melin',"  Billy  told  himself,  and  as  he  noted  the  heavy  chin, 
thrust  antagonistically  forward,  "  no  use  bruisin'  my 
knuckles  on  that,"  he  decided. 

"  You  heard  what  I  said,  didn't  you?"  growled  the 
challenger.  "I'm  goin'  to  lick  you." 

Billy  grinned.  He  had  caught  the  gasp  at  the  end  of  the 
speaker's  words;  now  he  knew  where  lay  the  stranger's 
weak  spot  —  his  wind! 

"  But  I  ain't  wantin'  to  fight,"  Billy  returned  gently. 

"  Why?  scared?  " 

"  Nice  boys  don't  fight."  Billy  shifted  his  feet  uneasily, 
the  movement  bringing  him  a  step  or  two  closer  to  the  other. 

"Bah!  mommie's  baby  boy  won't  fight?"  taunted  the 
eager  one.  "  But  by  gollies!  I'm  goin'  to  make  you,"  he 
added,  scowling  fiercely. 

Billy  wanted  to  laugh^  but  he  was  too  good  a  ring-general 
to  give  way  to  his  feelings.  Instead,  he  shifted  his  feet 
again,  thereby  getting  within  reaching  distance  of  the  one 
so  anxious  for  battle. 

"  Now,  then,"  declared  Scroggie,  tossing  his  hat  on  the 


118  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

sward  and  drying  his  moist  palms  on  his  trouser-legs,  "I'm 
goin'  to  black  your  eyes  and  pummel  the  nose  off  your 
face." 

The  last  word  was  drowned  in  a  resounding  "  emack." 
Billy  had  delivered  one  of  his  lightning,  straight-arm 
punches  fair  on  the  sneering  lips  of  the  new  boy.  Seroggie 
staggered  back,  recovered  his  balance,  and  threw  himself  on 
the  defensive  in  time  to  block  Billy's  well-aimed  right  to 
the  neck. 

"  So  that's  your  game,  is  it?  "  he  grunted.  "  Here's  a 
new  one  for  you  then."  That  "  new  one  "  was  a  veritable 
' '  hay-maker. ' '  Had  it  landed  where  it  was  intended  to  land 
the  fight  must  have  ended  then  and  there.  But  it  didn't. 
Billy  saw  it  coming  and  ducked. 

Scroggie  rushed,  managing  to  get  in  a  stiff  jab  to  Billy's 
body  and  receiving  in  return  one  which  promptly  closed 
one  of  his  small  optics.  He  struck  out  wildly,  but  Billy  was 
prancing  six  feet  away.  Scroggie 's  swollen  and  bleeding 
mouth  twisted  in  a  grin.  "  Oh,  I'll  get  you,"  he  promised. 
"  Stall  if  you  want 'a,  it's  all  one  to  me.  You  won't  find 
me  sleepin'  again,  I  promise  you." 

Billy  advanced  in  a  crouching  attitude.  His  eyes  were  on 
Scroggie 's  uninjured  eye  and  Scroggie,  now  grown  wary, 
read  that  look  as  Billy  intended  he  should.  Older  fighters 
have  made  the  same  mistake  that  Scroggie  made.  As  Billy 
leaped  in  Scroggie  raised  his  guard  to  his  face  and  Billy's 
right  and  left  thudded  home  to  the  flabby  stomach  of  his 
adversary. 

With  a  gasp  Scroggie  went  to  earth,  where  he  lay  writh- 
ing. After  a  time  he  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  Got  enough?  "  asked  Billy  pleasantly. 

The  vanquished  one  nodded.  He  had  not  as  yet  reeorered 
his  breath  sufficiently  to  speak.  When  at  last  he  was  able 


EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY  119 

to  draw  a  full  breath,  he  said:  "  Say,  you  trimmed  me  all 
right,  all  right." 

Billy  grinned. 

"  Who  are  you,  anyway?  "  asked  Scroggie  as  he  got  grog- 
gily  to  his  feet. 

"I'm  the  feller  that  owns  the  coon  you  tried  to  club  to 
death,"  Billy  answered.  A 

Scroggie 's  mouth  fell  open  in  surprise.  "  I  didn't  try  to 
kill  any  coon,"  he  denied.  "  I  saw  one  but  it  wasn't  me 
that  clubbed  it;  it  was  a  tall,  sandy-haired  feller  with  a 
squint  eye.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  try  in'  to  do  and  he 
told  me  to  dry  up  and  mind  my  own  business.  I  had  to 
give  him  a  lickin'.  He  went  off  blubberin' ;  said  if  I  wasn't 
too  seared  to  stick  around  he'd  send  a  feller  over  who  would 
fix  me.  So  I  stayed. ' ' 

"  I  wish  you  had  licked  him  harder 'n  you  did,"  frowned 
Billy. 

"Know  him?  " 

"  Well,  I  do  — an'  I  don't.  He's  my  half-brother  an'  a 
sneak  if  ever  there  was  one.  He  lied  about  you  to  me  — 
so 'a  I'd  fight  you." 

' '  And  what 's  your  name  ?  ' ' 

"  Billy  Wilson." 

Scroggie  stared.  "  I've  heard  of  you,"  he  said,  "an' 
the  feller  who  told  me  you  could  lick  your  weight  in  wild- 
cats wasn't  far  wrong.  You  had  me  fooled,  though,"  he 
laughed.  "I  swallowed  what  you  said  about  nice  boys  not 
fightin',  swallowed  it  whole.  Oh,  Moses!  " 

Billy  sat  down  on  a  stump.  "  I  don't  bear  no  grudge, 
do  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I'm  willin'  to  shake."    Scroggie  extended  his  hand. 

' '  Your  name 's  Scroggie,  ain  't  it  ? "  Billy  asked. 

"  Yep,  Jim  Scroggie." 


120  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Your  Dad's  goin'  to  cut  down  the  Scroggie  woods, 
I  hear?  " 

"  Yep,  if  he  can  get  his  price  for  the  timber." 

Billy  sat  looking  away.  His  grey  eyes  had  grown  somber. 
"  See  here,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  do  you  know  that  old  man 
Scroggie  left  a  will?  " 

"  Dad  says  not,"  the  other  boy  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  he  did;  an'  in  that  will  he  left  his  woods 
an'  money  to  Mr.  Stanhope,  my  teacher." 

"  If  that's  so,  Dad  has  no  right  to  that  woods,"  said  Jim. 

"  But  supposin'  the  will  can't  be  found?  "  Billy  looked 
the  other  boy  in  the  face  and  waited  for  the  answer. 

"  Why,  I  can't  see  that  that  ought 'a  make  any  differ- 
ence," Scroggie  replied.  "  If  you  folks  down  here  know 
that  Uncle  left  his  money  and  place  to  your  teacher,  that 
ought 'a  be  enough  for  Dad." 

"  Of  course  the  timber's  worth  a  lot,"  sparred  Billy. 

"  But  Dad  don't  need  it,"  Jim  declared.  "He's  rich 
now." 

"  He  is?  "  Billy  respected  the  new  boy  for  the  nonchal- 
ance of  his  tones.  Riches  hadn't  made  him  stuck  up,  at 
any  rate. 

"  Yep,"  went  on  Scroggie,  "  Dad  owns  some  big  oil 
wells  in  the  States.  He  ain't  got  any  business  down  here 
anyways,  but  he's  so  pig-headed  you  can't  tell  him  any- 
thin  ' ;  I  '11  say  that  much,  even  if  he  is  my  father.  It 's  bad 
enough  for  him  to  lug  me  away  from  town,  but  he  made 
Lou  come  along,  too." 

"  Lou?  " 

"  She's  my  sister,"  Jim  explained  proudly.  "  She's  a 
year  younger 'n  me.  Dad  says  she  looks  just  like  Mother 
looked.  I  guess  that's  the  reason  she  kin  do  most  anythin' 
she  likes  with  him.  But  she  couldn't  get  him  to  let  her 


EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY  121 

stay  in  Cleveland.  He  brought  her  along  and  Aunt  too. 
Aunt  keeps  house  for  us. ' ' 

"  I  guess  your  Dad  don't  think  much  of  us  folks  down 
here,  does  he?  "  Billy  asked. 

Scroggie  chuckled.  "  Dad  ain't  got  any  use  for  any- 
body, much,"  he  answered.  "  I  never  heard  him  say  any- 
thin'  about  any  of  the  people  of  the  Settlement  but  once, 
and  that  was  just  t'other  night.  He  come  home  lookin'  as 
if  somebody  had  pushed  his  head  into  a  crate  of  eggs.  I 
was  too  scared  to  ask  him  how  it  happened  and  Lou 
wouldn't.  Dad  said  the  people  'round  here  are  a  bad 
lot  and  it  wouldn  't  surprise  him  if  they  tried  to  kill  him. ' ' 

Billy  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  the  first  hearty 
laugh  he  had  known  for  days.  Scroggie,  in  spite  of  the 
pain  his  swollen  lips  caused  him,  laughed  too. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked,  hesitatingly,  "  you  got  a  great 
laugh,  Billy." 

"  Oh  I  don't  know,"  Billy  replied.  "  What  makes  you 
think  so,  Jim  ? ' '  Scroggie  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  log. 
"  I  had  a  chum  in  the  city  who  laughed  just  like  you  do. 
Gosh,  nobody '11  know  how  much  I  miss  him." 

"Dead?  " 

Scroggie  nodded.  "  Drowned  through  an  air-hole  in  the 
lake.  Say,  Billy,  do  you  skate?  " 

"  Some." 

"  Swim?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  Shoot?  " 

Billy  scratched  his  head  reflectively.  "  Not  much,  any 
more,"  he  said.  "  Course  I  like  duck-shootin',  an'  do  quite 
a  lot  of  it  in  the  fall." 

"How  'bout  quail?  " 

"  I  don't  shoot  quail  any  more,"  Billy  answered.    "  I've 


122  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

got  to  know  'em  too  well,  I  guess.  You  see,"  in  answer  to 
the  other  boy's  look  of  surprise,  "  when  a  feller  gets  to 
know  what  chummy,  friendly  little  beggars  they  are,  he 
don't  feel  like  shootin'  'em." 

"  But  they're  wild,  ain't  they  and  they're  game  birds?  " 

"  They're  wild  if  you  make  'em  wild,  but  if  they  get  to 
know  that  you  like  'em  an'  won't  hurt  'em,  they  get  real 
tame.  I've  got  one  flock  I  call  my  own.  I  fed  'em  last 
winter  when  the  snow  was  so  deep  they  couldn't  pick  up  a 
livin '.  They  used  to  come  right  into  our  barn-yard  for  the 
tailin's  I  throwed  out  to  'em." 

"  What's  tailin's?  " 

"  It's  the  chaff  and  small  wheat  the  fannin'  mill  blows 
out  from  the  good  grain.  Pa  lets  me  have  it  fer  my  wild 
birds.  I've  got  some  partridge  up  on  the  hickory  knoll, 
too.  They're  shyer  than  the  quail,  but  I've  got  'em  so  tame 
I  kin  call  'em  and  make  'em  come  to  me. ' ' 

"  You  kin?  "  Jim  exclaimed.  "  Well,  I'll  be  razzle-daz- 
zled!" 

"So,  I  don't  shoot  partridge  neither,"  said  Billy.  "  I 
don't  blame  anybody  else  fer  shootin'  'em,  remember,  but 
somehow,  I'd  rather  leave  'em  alive." 

"  I  see,"  said  Scroggie.  Of  course  he  didn't,  but  he 
wanted  to  make  Billy  feel  that  he  did. 

"Well  you  do  more  than  most  people,  then,"  said  Billy. 
"  The  folks  'round  here  think  I'm  crazy,  I  guess,  an'  Joe 
Scraff  —  he 's  got  an  English  setter  dog  an '  shoots  a  lot ;  he 
told  me  that  if  he  happened  onto  my  quail  an'  partridge 
he'd  bag  as  many  of  'em  as  he  could.  I  told  him  that  if  he 
shot  my  birds,  he  'd  better  watch  out  fer  his  white  Leghorn 
chickens  but  he  laughed  at  me." 

"  And  did  he  shoot  your  quail?  "  asked  Scroggie. 

Billy  nodded.    "  Once.    Flushed  'em  at  the  top  of  the 


EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY  123 

knoll  and  winged  one  bird.  The  rest  of  the  covey  flew  into 
our  barn-yard  an'  'course  he  couldn't  f oiler  'em  in  there.'* 

"Gollies!    Did  you  see  him?  " 

"  No,  me  an'  Pa  an'  Anse  was  down  at  the  back  end  of 
the  place.  Ma  saw  him,  though,  an'  she  told  me  all  about 
it.  Say,  maybe  I  wasn't  mad,  but  I  got  even,  all  right." 

"  Did  you?    How?  " 

Billy  looked  searchingly  at  his  new  friend.  "  I  never 
told  a  soul  how  I  did  it,  'cept  my  chum,  Maurice  Keeler," 
he  said.  "  But  I'll  tell  you.  That  same  evenin'  I  was 
prowlin*  through  the  slashin'  lookin'  fer  white  grubs  fer 
bass-bait.  I  fount  a  big  rotten  stump,  so  I  pushed  it  over, 
an'  right  down  under  the  roots  I  found  an  old  weasel  an'  six 
half-grown  kittens.  Afore  she  could  get  over  her  surprise,  I 
had  her  an'  her  family  in  the  tin  pail  I  had  with  me,  an'  the 
cover  on.  By  rights  I  should  a'  killed  the  whole  caboodle 
of  'em,  I  s 'pose,  'cause  they're  mighty  hard  on  the  birds; 
but  I  had  work  fer  'em  to  do. 

"  That  night  I  took  them  weasels  over  to  Seraff's  an* 
turned  'em  loose  under  his  barn.  I  knowed  mighty  well 
ma  weasel  would  stay  where  it  was  dark  an'  safe  and  the 
chicken  smell  was  so  strong.  Couple  of  days  after  that 
Seraff  come  over  to  our  place  to  borrow  some  rat  traps. 
His  face  was  so  long  he  was  fair  steppin'  on  his  lower  lip. 
He  said  weasels  had  been  slaughterin'  his  Leghorns,  right 
an '  left ;  six  first  night  an '  nine  the  next. 

"  '  I  hope  they  won't  get  among  my  quail,'  I  says,  an' 
Scraff  he  turned  round  an'  looked  at  me  mighty  hard,  but 
he  didn't  say  nuthin'.  He  went  away,  grumblin',  an'  car- 
ryin'  six  of  Dad's  traps.  Course  I  knowed  he  couldn't 
catch  a  weasel  in  a  trap  in  twenty  years  an'  he  didn't  catch 
any  either.  Ma  weasel  killed  some  more  of  his  Leghorns, 
an'  then  Scraff  he  comes  to  me.  '  Billy,'  he  says,  '  is  there 


124  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

any  way  to  get  rid  of  weasels?  '  '  Sure  there's  a  way,'  I 
says,  '  but  not  everybody  knows  it. ' 

"  '  I'll  give  you  five  dollars  if  you'll  catch  them  weasels 
that  are  killin'  my  chickens,'  he  says. 

"  '  If  you'll  promise  me  you'll  stay  away  from  my  quail 
an'  partridge  I'll  catch  'em  fer  nuthin,'  I  told  him.  '  Only,' 
I  says,  '  remember,  I  do  what  I  please  with  'em,  after  I  get 
'em.'  He  looked  at  me  as  though  he'd  like  to  choke  me, 
but  he  said  all  right,  he'd  leave  my  birds  alone. 

"  That  night  Maurice  Keeler  an'  me  went  over  to  Gam- 
ble's an'  borrowed  his  old  ferret.  He's  a  big  ferret  an' 
he'll  tackle  anythin',  even  a  skunk.  With  some  keg-hoops 
an'  a  canvas  sack  we  had  made  what  we  needed  to  catch 
the  weasels  in.  Then  we  put  a  muzzle  on  the  ferret,  so  he 
couldn't  fang-cut  the  weasels,  an'  we  went  over  to  Scraff ' s. 
As  soon  as  Joe  Scraff  saw  the  ferret  he  began  to  see  light 
an*  turned  into  the  house  to  get  his  shotgun.  I  told  him 
to  remember  his  promise  to  let  me  get  the  weasels  alive,  so 
he  set  on  the  fence  an'  watched  while  we  got  busy. 

"  First  off  we  plugged  every  hole  under  that  barn  but 
two,  an'  at  each  of  these  two  we  set  a  hoop-net.  Then  we. 
turned  ol'  Lucifer,  the  ferret,  loose  under  the  barn.  Holy 
Smoke!  afore  we  knowed  it  there  was  high  jinks  goin'  on 
under  there.  Maurice  had  hold  of  one  hoop  an'  me  the 
other.  It  took  ma  weasel  an'  her  boys  an'  girls  *bout  half 
a  minute  to  make  up  their  minds  that  ol'  Lucifer  wasn't 
payin'  'em  a  friendly  visit.  When  the  big  scramble  was 
over,  I  had  a  bagful  of  weasels  an'  so  did  Maurice.  We  let 
Lucifer  prowl  round  a  little  longer  to  make  sure  we  had 
all  of  'em,  then  I  called  him  out.  I  made  Scraff  give  us 
one  of  his  hens  to  feed  the  ferret  on.  Then  Maurice  an'  me 
started  off. 

"  '  You  think  you  got  all  of  'em,  Bill?  '  Scraff  called. 


EDUCATING  THE  NEW  BOY  125 

"  *  All  this  time,'  I  says,  an'  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't 
help  laughin'  at  the  look  on  his  face.  He  knowed  right 
then  that  I  had  put  up  a  job  on  him  but  he  couldn't  figure 
out  how." 

"  Oh  Hully  Gee!  "  yelled  Jim  Scroggie,  "  Wasn't  that 
corkin'  —  Oh  Mommer!  An'  what  did  you  an'  Maurice 
do  with  the  weasels?  " 

Billy  grinned  sheepishly.  "  We  should  'a  killed  'em,  I 
s'pose,"  he  said,  "  but  we  took  'em  down  to  the  marsh  an' 
turned  'em  loose  there.  Maurice  said  that  anythin'  that 
had  done  the  good  work  them  weasels  had,  deserved  life,  an' 
I  thought  so  too." 

The  twilight  shadows  were  beginning  to  steal  across  the 
glade;  the  golden-rod  of  the  uplands  massed  into  indistin- 
guishable clumps.  The  silence  of  eventide  fell  soft  and 
sweet  and  songless  —  that  breathless  space  between  the 
forest  day  and  darkness. 

Billy  stood  up.  "  You'll  like  it  here,"  he  said  to  the 
other  boy  who  was  watching  him,  a  strange  wonder  in  his 
eyes.  "  After  you  know  it  better,"  he  added. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  fit  very  well  yet,"  Scroggie  an- 
swered. "  Maybe  you'll  let  me  trail  along  with  you  some- 
times, Bill,  and  learn  things?  " 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Billy  and  without  another  word  turned 
to  the  dim  pathway  among  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OLD  HARRY  MAKES  A  FIND 

Through  the  dusky  twilight,  soft  with  wooaiana  aews 
and  sweet  with  odor  of  ferns  and  wild  flowers,  Billy  walked 
slowly.  For  the  first  time  in  long  days  his  heart  felt  at 
peace.  The  canker  of  loneliness  that  had  gnawed  at  his 
spirit  was  there  no  longer.  It  was  a  pretty  good  old  world 
after  all. 

A  whip-poor-will  lilted  its  low  call  from  a  hazel  copse 
and  Billy  answered  it.  A  feeling  that  he  wanted  to  visit 
his  wild  things  in  the  upland  shanty  and  explain  to  them 
his  seeming  neglect  of  them  during  his  time  of  stress  took 
possession  of  him.  So,  although  he  knew  supper  would  be 
ready  and  waiting  at  home,  he  branched  off  where  the 
path  forked  and  hurried  forward  toward  the  oak  ridge. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  he  reached  the  little  log  sugar- 
shanty  which  housed  his  pets.  He  had  hidden  a  lantern 
in  a  hollow  log  against  such  night  visits  as  this  and  he 
paused  to  draw  it  out  and  light  it  before  proceeding  to 
the  menagerie.  As  he  rounded  the  shanty,  whistling  softly, 
and  anticipating  how  glad  Spotba,  Moper,  the  owl,  and  all 
the  other  wild  inmates  would  be  to  see  him,  he  paused 
suddenly,  and  the  whistle  died  on  his  lips.  Somebody  had 
been  snooping  about  his  menagerie!  The  prop  had  been 
taken  from  the  door. 

His  mind  traveled  at  once  to  Anse.  So  that  meddler 
had  been  here  and  tried  to  let  his  pets  free,  had  he? 
Apparently  the  chump  didn  't  know  they  each  had  a  separate 
cage,  or  if  he  did  he  hadn't  the  nerve  to  open  it.  Well, 

126 


OLD  HARRY  MAKES  A  FIND  127 

it  meant  that  Anse  had  that  much  more  to  settle  for  with 
him,  that  was  all ! 

Billy  put  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door,  then  stood, 
frozen  into  inaction.  From  the  interior  of  the  shanty  had 
come  a  groan  —  a  human  groan !  Billy  almost  dropped  the 
lantern.  A  cold  shiver  ran  down  his  spine.  His  mind 
flashed  to  Old  Scroggie's  ghoet.  The  hand  that  groped  into 
his  pocket  in  search  of  the  rabbit-foot  charm  trembled  so 
it  could  scarcely  clasp  that  cherished  object. 

What  would  Trigger  Finger  do  if  placed  in  his  position  9 
Billy  asked  himself.  There  was  only  one  answer  to  that. 
He  took  a  long  breath  and,  picking  up  a  heavy  club,  swung 
the  door  open.  The  feeble  rays  of  the  lantern  probed  the 
gloom  and  something  animate,  between  the  cages,  stirred 
and  sat  up. 

"  Harry!  "  gasped  Billy,  "  Harry  O'Dule!  " 

"  Ha,"  cried  a  quavering  voice,  "  and  is  ut  the  Prince 
av  Darkness,  himself,  as  spakes  t'  me?  Thin  it's  no  fit  av 
the  delirium  tremens  I've  had  at  all,  at  all,  but  dead  I  am 
and  in  purgatory!  Oh  weary  me,  oh  weary  me!  Such 
shnakes  and  evil  eyed  burruds  have  I  never  seen  before. 
Och!  could  I  be  given  wan  taste  av  God's  blissid  air  and 
sunshine  ag'in,  and  never  more  would  whiskey  pass  me 
lips." 

Spotba,  the  big  mottled  marsh  snake,  sensing  Billy's 
presence,  uncoiled  himself  and  raised  his  head  along  the 
screen  of  his  cage;  the  brown  owl  hooted  a  low  welcome 
that  died  in  a  hiss  as  Harry  groaned  again. 

' '  Merciful  hivin !  look  at  the  eyes  av  that  awful  burrud, ' ' 
he  wailed.  "  And  that  big  shnake  hissin'  his  poison  in  me 
very  face.  Take  me  along,  Divil,  take  me  along,"  he 
screamed.  "  It's  no  more  av  this  I  kin  stand  at  all,  at  all." 

Billy  hung  the  lantern  on  the  door  and  bent  above  the 


128  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

grovelling  Harry.  "  Hey  you,"  he  said,  giving  the  old 
man's  shoulder  a  shake,  "  get  up  an*  come  out 'a  here; 
I  'm  not  tihe  devil,  I  'm  BiUy. ' ' 

"  Billy,"  Harry  held  his  breath  and  blinked  his  red- 
rimmed  eyes  in  unbelief.  "  Billy,  ye  say?  "  He  got  up 
with  Billy's  help  and  stood  swaying  unsteadily. 

4 '  You  're  drunk  again !  ' '  said  the  boy,  in  deep  disgust. 

Harry  wiped  his  lips  on  his  sleeve  and  stood  gazing  fear- 
fully about  him.  "  Do  you  see  the  shnakes  and  the  evil- 
eyed  burruds,  Billy  Bye?  "  he  shuddered.  "  It's  see  'em 
ye  shurely  can  and  hear  their  divil  hisses."  His  fingers 
gripped  the  boy's  arm. 

Billy  shook  him  off.  "  Look  here,  Harry,"  he  said, 
"  You're  seein'  things.  There  ain't  no  snakes  in  here  — 
no  birds  neither.  You  come  along  outside  with  me."  He 
grasped  the  Irishman  by  the  arm  and  started  toward  the 
door. 

"  Me  jug,"  whispered  Harry.  "  Where  is  that  divil 's 
halter  av  a  jug,  Billy?  " 

"  There's  your  jug  on  its  side,"  Billy  touched,  the  jug 
with  his  foot,  "  You  must've  drunk  it  empty,  Harry." 

"  Faith,  an'  I  did  not.  But  ut's  all  the  same,  impty  or 
full.  Niver  ag'in  will  ut  lead  me  into  delirium  tremens,  I 
promise  ye  that,  although  it's  meself  that  knows  where 
there's  a  plinty  of  whisky,  so  I  do." 

Billy  led  him  outside  and  turned  the  light  of  the  lantern 
full  on  his  face.  "  Harry,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  where 
are  you  gettin'  all  this  whisky?  " 

The  old  man  started.  "  That's  me  own  business,"  he 
answered  shortly. 

"Oh."  Billy  took  hold  of  his  arm,  "  Then  them  snakes 
an'  man-eatin'  birds  you've  been  seein'  are  your  own  busi- 
ness, too;  an'  since  you've  been  ninny  enough  to  stray  into 


OLD  HARRY  MAKES  A  FIND  129 

this  shanty,  I'm  goin'  to  put  you  back  in  it  an'  see  that 
you  stay  in  it." 

"  And  fer  God's  sake,  why?  "  gasped  the  frightened 
O'Dule. 

"  That's  my  business,"  said  Billy. 

Harry  glanced  behind  him  with  a  shudder.  "  God  love 
you  fer  a  good  lad,  Billy,"  he  cried;  "  but  this  is  no  way  to 
trate  an  ould  frind,  is  ut  now?  " 

' '  Then  you  best  tell  me  where  you  're  gettin '  the  whisky, ' ' 
said  Billy. 

"  But  that's  shure  the  ould  man's  secret,  Billy,"  pleaded 
Harry.  "  It's  not  a  foine  chap  as  ye  are  would  be  wheedlin' 
it  out  av  me,  now  ?  ' ' 

Billy  frowned.  "  I  know  that  Spencer  won't  give  you 
any  more  whisky, ' '  he  said,  "  an '  I  know  the  deacon  won 't 
give  you  any  more  cider.  I  know  that  you're  gettin'  liquor 
some  place  —  an'  without  payin'  fer  it.  Now  you  kin  tell 
me  where,  er  you  kin  stay  in  that  shanty  an'  see  snakes  an' 
things  all  night." 

Harry  wavered.  ''And  if  I  be  tellin'  ye,"  he  com- 
promised, '*  ye'U  be  givin'  a  promise  not  to  pass  it  along, 
thin?  Wullyenow?" 

' '  Yes  I  promise  not  to  tell  anybody  but  Maurice  ?  ' ' 

"  Then  111  be  tellin'  ye  where  I  do  be  gettin'  the  whisky, 
Billy;  where  else  but  m  the  Tia'nted  house." 

"  WhatT  "  Billy  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears. 

"  May  I  niver  glimpse  the  blissid  blue  av  Ireland's  skies 
ag'in,  if  I  spake  a  lie,"  said  Harry,  earnestly.  "  In  the 
ha'nted  house  I  found  ut,  Billy.  Wait  now,  and  I  tell  ye 
how  ut  sa  happened.  Yell  be  rememberin'  that  night  we 
tried  to  wait  fer  ould  Soroggie's  ghost  an'  the  terrible 
storm  eome  on  and  split  us  asunder  wid  a  flash  av  blue 
lightnim'?  I  was  crossin'  meself  in  thankfulness  that  ut 


130  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

found  the  big  elm  instead  av  me,  I  was,  whin  I  dropped  me 
fairy  charm,  d'ye  moind?  Stay  and  seek  fer  ut  I  would 
not,  wid  all  the  powers  av  darkness  conspirin'  wid  ould 
Scroggie  ag'in  me.  Ut's  fly  I  did  on  the  wings  av  terror 
to  me  own  cabin,  an'  covered  up  me  head  wid  the  bed- 
quilt,  I  did." 

"  Well,  go  on.    What's  all  this  got  to  do  with  whisky?  " 

' '  Jest  you  wait  a  bit  and  you  '11  find  that  out.  Nixt  day 
I  go  down  there  ag'in  to  look  fer  me  charm,  but  find  ut 
I  did  not.  Then  wid  me  little  jug  in  me  hand  and  me 
whistle  in  me  bosom,  did  I  strike  across  woods  to  the 
Twin  Oaks  store,  there  to  learn  av  the  robbery.  A  little 
bit  av  drink  did  I  get  from  Spencer,  an'  takin'  ut  home 
was  I  when  an  accident  I  had,  an'  spilled  ut.  Well,  ut 
was  afther  several  days  av  hard  toil,  wid  not  so  much  as 
a  drop  left  in  me  little  jug,  that  one  mornin'  as  I  was 
.cuttin'  through  the  lower  valley  fer  Thompson's  tater- 
patch,  that  come  to  me  ut  did  I  'd  search  a  bit  fer  me  lost 
charm  ag'in. 

"  Ut  was  while  pokin'  about  I  was  among  the  twigs  on 
the  ground,  whisperin'  a  bit  av  witch-talk  that  belongs  to 
me  charm,  that  I  discovered  human  foot-prints  in  the  earth 
av  the  hollow.  This  I  would  not  have  thought  strange 
a 'tall  a 'tall,  but  the  foot  prints  led  right  into  the  ha'nted 
grove.  '  Bcfiobs,'  thinks  I,  '  no  ghost  iver  wore  boots  the 
size  av  them  now!  '  On  me  hands  and  knees  I  crawled 
forrard  an'  right  in  the  edge  av  the  grove  I  glimpsed 
eomethin',  I  did,  beneath  the  ferns,  somethin'  that  sparkled 
in  the  mornin'  light  like  a  bit  av  star-dust  on  the  edge  av 
a  cloud.  Thinkin '  only  av  me  blessid  charm,  I  crawled 
further  in,  and  phwat  do  you  suppose  I  picked  up,  Billy 
Bye?  A  bottle  ut  was,  an'  almost  full  av  prime  liquor. 

"  Sit  I  there,  wid  God's  sunlight  caressin'  me  bare  head 


OLD  HARRY  MAKES  A  FIND  131 

and  his  burruds  trillin'  their  joy  at  me  good  luck  —  and 
dhrink  I  did.  It's  a  mercy  ut  was  but  a  small  bottle,  else 
I  might  have  taken  it  back  to  me  cabin  to  be  finished  at 
leisure.  Instead,  whin  ut  was  all  dhrunk  up,  I  found 
widin  me  the  courage  to  proceed  further  into  the  ha'nted 
grove.  So  I  goes,  an'  afore  I  knew  ut,  right  up  to  the 
ha'nted  house  I  was,  and  inside  ut." 

Harry  paused  and  sat  looking  away,  a  reminiscent  smile 
on  his  face. 

"  What  did  you  find  there?  "  Billy's  tone  of  impatience 
brought  the  old  man  out  of  his  musing. 

"  Whisky,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "  two  great  jugs  full 
avut,  Billy  Bye." 

"And  what  else?" 

"  Nothin'  else,"  returned  Harry.  "  Nuthin'  else  that 
mattered,  Bye.  A  square  box  there  was  that  I  had  no  time 
to  open  a 'tall;  but  whisky!  Oh,  Billy  Bye  —  there  ut  was 
afore  me,  enough  av  ut  to  coax  all  the  blood-suckin '  bats 
and  snakes  in  hades  up  to  mock  the  consumer  av  ut." 

Billy  reached  down  and  gripped  the  old  man's  arm. 
"  You  found  that  stuff  and  didn't  so  much  as  tell 
Spencer?  "  he  cried  indignantly. 

"  And  fer  why  should  I  tell  Spencer,  thin?  "  Harry 
asked,  his  blood-shot  eyes  wide  in  wonder.  "  Nobuddy 
told  me  where  to  find  ut,  did  they?  " 

"  But  Harry,  don't  you  see,  that  stuff  belongs  to  Caleb 
Spencer.  The  thieves  must  have  hid  it  there,  in  the  ha'nted 
house." 

"  Course  they  did,"  Harry  agreed.  "  Ut's  no  fool  you 
take  me  fer,  shurely?  " 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  tell  Spencer?  Don't  you  know 
them  thieves  will  find  out  you've  been  there  an'  they'll  hide 
that  stuff  in  a  new  place,  Harry?  " 


132  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

The  old  man  laughed  softly.  "  Wull  they  now?  Well 
I  guess  they  won't  naither.  It's  hide  ut  in  a  new  place  I 
did,  meself.  They'll  have  a  lot  av  trouble  afindia'  ut, 
too." 

"  Then,"  cried  Billy,  hotly,  "  you're  as  big  a  thief  as 
they  are." 

"  Hould  on  now!  "  Harry  swayed  up  from  the  log,  the 
grin  gone  from  his  face.  "  Ut's  little  did  I  think  that  Billy 
Wilson  would  be  misunderstandin'  me,"  he  said,  reproach- 
fully. "  Not  wan  article  that  the  box  contained  has  been 
teched  by  me.  A  email  bit  av  the  whisky  have  I  took, 
because  it  was  no  more  than  sufficient  reward  f  er  me  findin ' 
the  stuff,  but  the  box  is  safe  and  safe  ut  wull  be  returned 
to  Spencer  whin  the  proper  time  comes." 

"  An'  when'U  that  be,  Harry?  " 

"Listen  thin."  Harry  touched  Billy's  arm.  "  Ivery 
day  since  I  made  me  discovery  an'  hid  box  and  jugs  in  a 
new  spot  have  I  visited  that  sour-faced  ould  Spencer,  and 
I've  said:  '  Supposin'  one  should  discover  your  stolen 
goods,  Caleb  Spencer,  would  ye  be  willin'  t'  let  what  little 
whisky  there  was  left  go  to  the  finder?  ' 

"  An*  phwat  has  he  said?  '  Some  av  ut,'  said  he,  when 
first  I  broached  the  question.  And  the  nixt  time  I  axed 
him  he  said,  *  Half  av  ut.'  Nixt  time  —  only  yesterday  ut 
was  —  he  said,  '  Harry,  I'd  be  givin'  two-thirds  ay  ut  to 
the  finder.'  " 

Harry  laughed  and  again  touched  Billy's  arm.  "  To- 
night ut's  go  back  to  him  I  wull  an'  the  question  put  to 
him  onee  more,  an'  this  night,  plase  God,  he  wwll  likely 
say,  '  All  av  ut,  Harry,  all  av  ut.'  " 

Billy,  who  was  thinking  hard,  looked  up  at  this.  "  But," 
he  said  sternly,  "  you  said,  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  that 
you  were  done  forever  with  whisky." 


OLD  HARRY  MAKES  A  FIND  133 

"  And  begobs  I  meant  ut  too,"  cried  Harry.  "  When 
Caleb  Spencer  says,  '  All  av  ut  '  to  me,  ut's  laugh  at  him 
I  wull,  and  tell  him  it's  meself  wants  none  av  ut." 

Billy's  frown  vanished.  "  Fine,  Harry,  fine,"  he  com- 
mended, "an'  I'll  go  down  to  the  store  with  you.  Come 
up  to  the  house,  now,  and  111  manage  to  sneak  you.  out 
some  supper. ' ' 

"  Plase  God,"  murmured  Harry,  "  but  ut's  meaelf  '11 
be  glad  to  lave  this  awful  spot;  lead  on,  Billy." 

"  Foller  me  then,  an'  remember  to  keep  quiet,"  cau- 
tioned Billy. 

"  But  fer  why  should  I  keep  quiet?  Haven't  I  thrown 
off  the  ourse  av  rum  ?  Why  should  I  not  shout  the  cry  av 
victory,  Billy  ? 

"  Shout  nuthin';  you  keep  still." 

"  But  a  small  bit  av  a  ehune,  Billy.  A  bit  av  a  lilt  on 
me  whistle,  now." 

"  No.  After  I've  got  hold  of  our  supper  you  kin  lilt 
all  you  care  to.  Look  here,  Harry,  you  know  jest  how 
much  use  Ma  has  fer  you;  if  she  finds  out  you're  on  our 
place,  (shell  sick  the  dog  on  you.  Now  you  do  as  I  say." 

He  took  the  path  through  the  trees,  Harry  stumbling 
close  behind,  grumbling  and  protesting  against  the  unkind 
fate  that  would  not  allow  of  his  celebrating  victory  in  a 
manner  befitting  a  true  son  of  Ireland.  When,  at  length, 
they  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood,  Billy  stopped  and 
pointed  to  a  stump. 

"  Set  down  there  an'  keep  still  as  a  mouse  till  I  get 
back,"  he  admonished.  "  I  won't  be  long." 

"  But,  Billy  Bye,  supposin'  the  cold-eyed  burruds  an' 
the  hissin'  serpents  should  be  returnin'  to  threaten  me 
wance  ag'in?  " 

Billy's    hand    went    down    into   his    trouser'a    pocket. 


134  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Look,'*  he  comforted,  "I've  got  my  rabbit-foot  charm, 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  draw  a  magic  circle  'round  the  stump 
you're  settin'  on.  No  snakes,  owl,  ner  even  old  Scroggie's 
ghost  kin  get  inside  that  circle." 

Harry  held  his  breath  and  watched  him,  fascinated,  as 
he  proceeded  to  trace  the  ring. 

' '  Fer  the  love  av  hivin,  be  sure  ye  make  both  inds  av  the 
circle  jine,"  he  shivered.  "  Ut's  a  small  crack  a  ghost  kin 
squeeze  through,  I'm  tellin'  ye." 

"  There  you  are,  Harry."  Billy,  having  completed  the 
magic  circle,  stood  up  and  put  the  charm  back  in  his 
pocket.  "  Not  a  chink  in  it,"  he  assured  the  old  man. 

"  Faith,"  sighed  Harry,  "  ut's  meself  is  willin'  to  be 
riskin'  a  little  in  return  fer  a  bite  to  eat,  fer  it's  fastin' 
long  I've  been  an'  as  impty  as  a  church,  I  am." 

"Well  fix  that,"  Billy  promised,  as  he  slipped  away 
through  the  darkness  toward  the  light  which  glimmered 
through  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ERIE  OP  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE 

Through  the  summer  night,  Hinter,  astride  a  rangy  roan, 
rode  the  ten  mile  trail  that  lay  between  the  foot  of  Bond 
Eau  and  the  light-house.  On  his  left  the  giant  pines  stood 
with  sharp  points  clearly  defined  against  the  starlight  like 
the  bayonet-fixed  guns  of  a  sleeping  army;  to  his  right 
swept  dwarf  cedars  and  stunted  oaks  and  beyond  them 
the  bay  marshes,  with  weaving  fire-flies  shimmering  like 
star-dust  close  above  them. 

It  was  a  lonely  trail  but  Hinter  had  ridden  it  often. 
He  knew  that  in  the  shadows  lurked  wild  things  which 
resented  his  intrusion  of  their  retreat;  that  later,  when 
the  night  grew  old,  timber-wolves  would  voice  their  pro- 
test, and  fierce-eyed  lynx,  tufted  ears  flat  and  fangs  bared 
in  hatred,  would  look  down  upon  him  from  overhanging 
branch  of  tree.  But  behind  him  stalked  protection  in  the 
form  of  two  great  dogs  against  which  no  wolf  or  cat  had 
ever  waged  successful  warfare.  Besides,  there  was  the 
heavy  "  40-40  "  revolver  in  his  belt. 

"  Two  Great  Danes  and  a  '  bull-dog  '  should  be  protec- 
tion enough  for  any  man,"  he  would  laugh  to  Landon,  the 
light-house  keeper,  when  the  latter  shook  his  head  doubt- 
fully over  Hinter 's  foolhardiness  in  riding  this  lone  night 
trail.  And  Landon,  whose  asthma  made  talking  difficult 
for  him,  would  say  no  more,  realizing  that  it  was  useless. 

The  light-house  keeper,  who  lived  with  his  daughter  in 
a  comfortable  house  on  the  extreme  end  of  the  Point,  had 
always  been  glad  to  welcome  Hinter  to  his  isolated  loncli- 

135 


136  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

ness.  With  an  invalid's  self-centeredness,  he  belidred  that 
it  was  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  his  existence  that  this 
man  paid  him  periodical  visits.  He  did  not  dream  that 
his  daughter,  Erie,  named  after  the  lake,  whose  blue  lay 
deep  in  her  eyes  and  whose  moods  were  of  hereelf  a  part, 
was  the  real  attraction  which  drew  Hinter  to  their  kome. 
Indeed  it  would  have  taken  a  much  more  astute  observer 
than  the  man  who  had  been  keeper  of  the  light  for  more 
than  thirty  years  to  have  observed  this.  Never  by  look, 
word  or  sign  had  Hinter  shown  that  in  this  slender,  golden- 
haired  girl,  whose  laughter  was  the  sweetest  note  in  the 
world  —  this  girl  who  could  trim  a  sail  in  biting  gale  and 
swim  the  wide,  deep  channel  when  tempest  angered  it  to 
clutching  under-currents  —  was  more  to  him  than  just  a 
glad,  natural  product  of  her  world.  Always  his  manner 
towards  her  had  been  one  of  kindly  respect.  In  time  she 
grew  ashamed  of  the  distrust  she  had  on  first  acquaintance 
intuitively  felt  for  him.  He  was  good  to  her  father  and 
considerate  of  her.  He  talked  interestingly  of  the  big  out- 
side world  and  described  the  cities  he  had  visited.  Her 
father  liked  him  and  always  looked  forward  to  his  visits, 
and  with  a  sick  man's  petulance  grumbled  if  Hinter  failed 
to  come  on  his  regular  nights. 

"  He's  a  fine  man,  Erie,"  he  would  say  to  his  daughter, 
"  and  well  off,  too.  I'd  like  to  see  you  married  to  a  man 
like  Hinter  before  I  go.  Ever  since  your  Ma  diad,  I've 
been  worried  about  leavin'  you  behind." 

"  But  I  am  going  to  marry  Frank,  Daddy,"  the  girl 
would  say  softly. 

"Hey?  Oh,  all  right,  all  right.  Stanhope's  a  fine 
youngster,  but  poor,  poor." 

He  would  lapse  into  silence,  sucking  his  pipe,  and  watch- 
ing Erie  putting  away  the  supper-dishes. 


ERIE  OF  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE  137 

"Hell  never  find  the  Scroggie  will,"  he  would  speak 
again.  "  Hell  always  be  poor." 

"  But,  Daddy,"  the  girl  would  laugh,  "  we  love  each 
other.  We  are  happy  and  real  happiness  is  worth  more 
than  money,  isn't  it,  dear?  " 

"  Aye,"  he  would  answer.  "  Your  mother  and  I  were 
happy  in  that  way.  But  she  was  taken  away  and  all  I 
had  in  her  place  was  heart  loneliness  —  but  for  you. ' '  Then 
she  would  Mas  him  softly  and,  stealing  about  her  house- 
hold tasks,  sing  him  to  fitful  sleep  as  she  moved  quietly 
about  tke  room. 

Tonight  as  Hinter  rode  through  the  pine-soented  gloom 
the  light-house  keeper  sat  in  his  big  chair  beside  the  window 
that  looked  upon  the  lake.  Spent  from  a  trying  fit  of 
coughing,  his  nerves  crying  for  the  rest  which  was  denied 
him,  the  sick  man  had  gazed  across  to  where  the  shuttle 
of  sunset  was  weaving  its  fabric  of  changing  colors  upon 
sky  and  water.  But  he  had  not  seen  those  glad  lights; 
had  not  heard  the  cries  of  the  haven-seeking  gulls  or  the 
soft  plaintive  notes  of  the  night  birds  from  the  Point 
forest.  The  lights  had  flashed  and  departed  unseen,  the 
wild  calb  had  been  voiced  and  sunk  to  silence  unheard, 
because  a  tenderer  light,  which  had  belonged  to  this,  his 
own  hour,  had  vanished;  a  sweeter  song  than  even  night 
birds  eould  voice  had  been  stilled  —  the  light  in  his  Erie's 
eyes  and  the  low  notes  from  her  glad  heart. 

Ha  kmew  why.  She  had  told  him.  God,  Destiny,  Fate, 
had  coma  between  her  and  the  man  she  loved.  The  man 
had  lost  Hieare  than  life  in  playing  the  part  of  a  man.  He 
was  blind!  Behind  him  were  only  memories  that  oould 
not  be  buried.  Before  him  only  darkness,  bleakness, 
despair.  And  he  had  done  an  heroic  thing  in  giving  her 
up.  Helpless,  powerless  to  support  her,  what  else  was 


138  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

there  for  him  to  do?  So,  in  his  love  for  her,  he  had  dug  a 
grave  and  in  it  buried  Hope  and  all  that  God  in  His  wise 
ordinance  had  allowed  him  to  live  and  feel.  And  they  had 
kissed  and  parted,  kneeling  beside  this  grave,  cold  lips  to 
cold  lips,  broken  heart  to  broken  heart.  It  was  the  kiss  on 
the  cross  which  each  must  carry. 

So  much  had  she  told  him,  and  the  light  had  gone  from 
her  eyes,  the  song  from  her  lips. 

The  sick  man  sank  lower  in  his  chair,  his  face  working, 
his  heart  crying  the  same  pleading  cry  as  cried  the  heart 
of  Rachel  of  old  for  her  children  —  a  cry  understood  only 
by  the  heart  in  which  it  was  born  —  and  God. 

And  so  Hinter  found  him  there  before  the  window  in 
the  gloom,  his  thin  hands  clutching  the  arms  of  his  ehair, 
his  white  face  sunk  on  his  breast.  "  Landon,  old  friend, 
asleep?  "  he  asked  softly.  No  answer.  Hinter  struck  a 
match  and  lit  the  lamp  on  the  table.  Then  he  touched  the 
sleeper's  arm;  still  he  did  not  stir. 

Alarmed,  Hinter  drew  the  big  chair  about  so  that  the 
light  would  fall  on  the  sick  man's  face.  Slowly  Landon 
opened  his  eyes.  He  struggled  erect  and  attempted  to 
speak,  but  a  fit  of  coughing  assailed  him  and  robbed  him  of 
breath. 

From  his  pocket  Hinter  drew  a  flat  bottle  and  poured  a 
portion  of  its  contents  into  a  glass.  Gently  raising  the 
emaciated  form  to  a  more  comfortable  position,  he  held  the 
glass  to  the  blue  lips.  Under  the  stimulant  of  the  brandy 
Landon  rallied. 

"  Thanks,"  he  whispered.  Then,  hospitality  his  first 
thought,  he  motioned  towards  a  chair.  Hinter  sat  down. 

"  Worse  than  usual  tonight,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked  in  kindly 
tones. 

"  Yes,  asthma's  that  way  —  eases  off — then  comes  back 


ERIE  OF  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE  139 

—  hits  you  sudden."  He  glanced  at  the  bottle.  Hinter, 
understanding,  poured  him  out  another  portion. 

1 '  It  seems  to  be  the  only  thing  that  helps, ' '  gasped  Lan- 
don  as  he  swallowed  the  draught. 

Hinter  nodded.  "  Not  a  bad  medicine  if  rightly  used," 
he  said.  He  filled  his  pipe,  lit  it,  and  passed  the  tobacco- 
pouch  to  Landon.  He  was  watching  the  door  leading  to 
the  inner  room. 

"  Erie  out  in  her  boat?  "  he  asked,  casually.  "  I  don't 
hear  her  voice,  or  her  whistle. ' ' 

' '  She 's  out  on  the  bay, ' '  answered  the  father  and  lapsed 
again  into  brooding  silence. 

Hinter  waited.  At  length  Landon  roused  from  his  mus- 
ings. "My  heart's  heavy  for  her,"  he  said,  "and  heavy 
for  the  young  man  who  loves  her.  You've  heard,  of  course. 
News  of  the  like  spreads  quickly. ' ' 

"  Yes,  I've  heard."  Hinter  rose  abruptly  and  strode  to 
the  window  overlooking  the  bay.  A  full  moon  was  lifting 
above  the  pines.  In  its  silvery  track  a  tiny  sail  was  beat- 
ing harborward. 

After  a  time  he  turned  and  walked  back  slowly  to  where 
the  sick  man  sat.  "  Mr.  Landon,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I 
love  your  daughter.  "With  your  permission  I  would  make 
her  my  wife.  Wait, ' '  as  the  older  man  attempted  to  speak. 
' '  Hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I  have  endeavored  to  be  honor- 
able. Never  by  word  or  look  have  I  given  her  to  under- 
stand what  my  feelings  are  toward  her.  For  Stanhope,  the 
man  who  was  brave  and  strong  enough  to  give  her  up,  I 
have  always  had  the  deepest  respect ;  and  now,  knowing  the 
price  he  has  paid,  I  honor  him.  He  was  far  more  worthy 
of  your  daughter  than  I  am.  But  now,  as  all  is  over 
between  them,  I  would  do  my  best  to  make  her  happy. ' ' 

"  That  I  know  well,"  spoke  the  father  eagerly.    "  Ever 


140  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

since  my  clutch  on  life  has  been  weakeriin'  I've  worried  at 
the  thought  that  perhaps  I  may  leave  her  unprovided  for. 
You  have  lifted  the  load,  my  friend.  I  will  speak  to  Erie 
and  place  your  proposal  of  marriage  before  her.  She's  a 
good  girl;  shell  be  guided  by  her  father  in  the  matter." 

Hinter  gravely  thanked  him.  ' '  I  would  advise  that  you 
say  nothing  for  a  time,"  he  said.  "  She  is  higk-spirited, 
loyal  to  the  core.  She  is  suffering.  Time  will  assist  us ;  we 
will  wait.  I  shall  visit  you  oftener  than  heretofore,  but 
until  I  think  the  moment  expedient  say  nothing  to  her." 

A  light  step  sounded  on  the  gravel ;  the  door  opened  and 
Erie  entered.  She  was  dressed  in  white.  The  damp  bay- 
breeze  had  kissed  the  golden  hair  to  shimmering  life  but 
there  were  shadows  beneath  the  violet  eyes,  a  dreary  pathos 
about  the  unsmiling  mouth. 

She  placed  a  cold  little  hand  in  the  eager  one  whiah  Hin- 
ter extended  to  her  and  her  fleeting  glance  left  him  to  fastem 
on  the  sick  man  in  the  arm  chair. 

"  Daddy,"  she  cried,  running  over  to  kneel  beside  him. 
"  It  was  selfish  of  me  to  leave  you  alone." 

"  I've  had  our  good  friend  Hinter  for  company,  girlie," 
said  her  father,  stroking  the  damp  curls. 

Erie  flashed  their  visitor  a  look  of  gratitude.  "It  is 
good  of  you  to  come  to  him, ' '  she  said.  ' '  He  always  looks 
forward  to  your  visits,  and  grows  quite  fretful  if  you  are 
late."  She  smiled  and  patted  the  father's  hand.  "The 
east  wind's  bad  for  the  cough  but  tomorrow  yoall  be  as 
good  as  ever,  won 't  you,  Daddy  ?  ' ' 

Landon  did  not  reply.  He  simply  pressed  the  girl's  cold 
hand.  Hinter  caught  the  look  of  suffering  in  her  eyes  as 
she  arose  and  passed  into  the  outer  room.  Wheat  site  re- 
turned she  carried  a  heavy,  wicker-bound  can. 

**  My  lamps  need  filling,"  she  explained.    "  N»,  please 


ERIE  OP  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE  141 

don't  eome,"  as  Hinter  made  to  take  the  can  from  her,  "  I 
would  rather  you  stayed  with  him. ' ' 

He  bowed,  and  his  eyes  followed  her  from  the  room. 
"  What  a  wonderful  creature  she  is,"  he  thought. 

"  Hinter,"  Landon's  weak  voice  broke  in  on  his  thoughts, 
' '  you  haven 't  given  me  the  neighborhood  news.  Have  they 
found  out  who  robbed  the  store  yet?  " 
v  "  No,"  answered  Hinter,  resuming  his  seat,  "  I  believe 
not.  Some  were  disposed  to  think  that  the  shoremen  had 
a  hand  in  the  robbery  but  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Why  don't  you?  The  Sand-sharkers  aren't  above  doin' 
it,  are  they?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  that  they  are.  That  job  was  not  done 
by  any  amateurs,  though.  The  men  who  broke  into  Spen- 
cer'e  store  were  old  hands  at  the  game.  I  was  at  the  store 
and  had  a  look  over  it.  I've  seen  the  work  of  professional 
burglars  before.  These  fellows  made  a  clean  sweep  and 
left  not  a  single  clew.  Still,  I  made  my  own  deductions. 
I  can't  tell  you  more  until  I  have  proved  my  suspicions 
correct.  Hush !  "  he  warned, ' '  she's  coming.  I  must  be  hit- 
ting the  trail  for  the  Settlement." 

As  Hinter  picked  up  his  hat  Erie  entered  and  the  light 
words  he  was  about  to  speak  died  on  his  lips  at  sight  of 
the  girl's  stricken  face.  "  You  are  tired,"  he  said,  in  deep 
coneern.  "  The  work  of  tending  the  lights  alone  is  too 
mueh  for  you.  Why  not  let  me  send  someone  from  the  Set- 
tlement to  help  you,  at  least  until  your  father  is  strong 
enough  to  take  up  his  end  of  the  work  again?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  The  work  is  not  hard  and  I  love 
it,"  she  answered.  "  After  the  lights  are  lit  I  have  nothing 
to  do.  Daddy's  asthma  will  not  let  him  sleep,  so  he  sits  in 
his  big  ehair  all  night  and  keeps  his  eye  on  the  light  while 
I  sleep.  Then  when  the  sun  sucks  up  the  mists  from  bay 


142  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

and  lake  he  is  able  to  get  his  sleep.  So,  you  see,"  smiling 
bravely,  "  we  get  along  splendidly." 

Hinter  held  out  his  hand.  "  Well,  good  night  Miss  Erie," 
he  said.  "  I  '11  be  up  again  soon,  with  some  books  for  you. ' ' 

"  But  you  mustn't  go  without  having  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  bite  to  eat,"  she  protested.  "  Please  sit  down  and  I'll 
have  it  ready  in  a  minute." 

He  shook  his  head.  ' '  Not  tonight,  thanks.  You  're  tired, 
and  I  've  a  long  ride  before  me.  Next  time  I  come  we  '11  have 
tea, ' '  he  promised  as  he  turned  to  shake  hands  with  Landon. 

"  Your  guardians  are  with  you  I  suppose?  "  said  Erie, 
as  he  turned  to  go. 

He  laughed,  "  Sphinx  and  Dexter,  you  mean?  Yes, 
they  are  out  in  the  stable  with  my  horse.  By  the  way,  they 
didn't  see  you  last  time  we  were  here,  and  they  seemed  to 
feel  pretty  badly  about  it.  Would  you  mind  stepping  out- 
side and  speaking  a  word  to  them?  "  he  asked.  "They  are 
very  fond  of  you,  you  know." 

She  shivered.  * '  And  I  'm  very  fond  of  them,  only, ' '  she 
added  as  she  followed  him  to  the  door,  "  I  never  know 
whether  they  want  to  eat  me  up  or  caress  me. ' ' 

"  You  won't  forget  to  come  back  again  soon,  Hinter?  " 
called  the  sick  man.  "  It  does  me  a  sight  of  good  to  see 
you  and  get  the  news  from  the  Settlement." 

"  I'll  return  soon,"  Hinter  promised.  "  Don't  worry 
about  anything.  A  speedy  recovery  —  and  good  night. ' ' 

A  full  moon  was  veiling  lake  and  bay  in  sheen  of  silvery 
whiteness  as  Hinter  and  Erie  went  out  into  the  August 
night.  Eastward  the  long  pine  covered  Point  swept  a  dark 
line  against  the  grey,  shadowy  rush-lands.  Somewhere 
among  the  hidden  ponds  mallards  and  grey  ducks  were 
quacking  contentedly  as  they  fed.  A  swamp  coon  raised  his 
almost  human  cry  as  he  crept  the  sandy  shores  in  search 


ERIE  OF  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE  143 

of  the  frogs  whose  tanging  notes  boomed  from  the  boglands. 

Man  and  girl  paused  for  a  little  time  on  the  strip  of  white 
sand  to  drink  in  the  beauty  of  the  night  and  the  sounds  of 
its  wild  life.  Then  Hinter  stepped  to  the  stable  and  opened 
the  door.  "  Come  boys,"  he  commanded  and  the  two 
great  dogs  came  bounding  out  to  leap  upon  him  with  whines 
of  welcome,  then  on  to  where  the  girl  stood,  waiting,  half 
eagerly,  half  frightened. 

"  Gently  now,"  Hinter  cautioned,  and  they  threw  them- 
selves at  her  feet,  massive  heads  on  outstretched  paws, 
deep-set  eyes  raised  to  her  face.  She  bent  and  placed  a 
hand  on  the  head  of  each. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  "  they  are  not  as  ferocious  as  they 
are  said  to  be?  " 

Hinter  knit  his  brows.  "I'm  afraid  they  are,"  he  an- 
swered. ' '  But  my  friends  are  their  friends,  you  see.  There 
is  only  one  other  person  besides  yourself  and  myself  who 
can  do  what  you  are  doing  now,  though." 

She  looked  up  quickly.    "  And  may  I  ask  who  that  is?  " 

"  Certainly;  it's  young  Billy  Wilson.  You  know  —  the 
lad  who  is  always  roaming  the  woods. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  know  him  perhaps  better 
than  most  folks  do.  I  am  not  surprised  that  he  can  han- 
dle these  dogs,  Mr.  Hinter." 

He  glanced  at  her  closely,  struck  by  the  odd  note  in  her 
voice.  "  He  seems  a  manly  little  chap,"  he  said.  "  I  must 
get  to  know  him  better." 

"  You  may  succeed,"  she  replied,  "  but  I'm  afraid  you 
would  have  to  know  Billy  a  long  time  to  know  him  well." 

She  bent  and  gave  the  dogs  a  farewell  pat;  then  moved 
like  the  spirit  of  the  moonlight  to  the  house.  "  Good 
night,"  she  called  softly  from  the  doorway. 

"  Good  night,"  he  echoed. 


144  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  riding  the  two-mile  strip  of 
sand  between  the  light-house  and  the  pines,  the  Great 
Danes  close  behind.  When  he  reached  the  timber  he  reined 
in  to  look  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  tall  white  tower  with 
its  ever-sweeping,  glowing  eye.  Then,  with  a  sigh,  he  rode 
forward  and  passed  into  the  darkness  of  the  trees.  Half 
way  down  the  trail  he  dismounted  and,  after  hitehing  his 
horse  to  a  tree  and  commanding  his  dogs  to  stand  guard, 
plunged  into  the  thickly-growing  pines  on  the  right  ef  the 
path. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  came  out  upon  the  lake  shore. 
Quickly  he  scraped  together  a  pile  of  drift  wood.  He  ap- 
plied a  match  to  it  and  as  fire  leaped  up  stood  frowning 
aeross  the  water.  Then,  as  an  answering  light  flashed  from 
some  distance  out  in  the  lake,  he  sighed  in  relief  and  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  sand  lit  his  pipe.  After  a  time  the 
sound  of  oars  fell  on  his  ears.  A  boat  scraped  on  the  feeaeh. 
Two  men  stepped  from  it  and  approached  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK 

Manriee  Keeler,  wan,  hollow-eyed,  and  miserable,  was 
seated  on  a  stool  just  outside  the  door  in  the  early  morning 
sunlight.  Near  him  sat  his  mother,  peeling  potatoes,  her 
portly  form  obscured  by  a  trailing  wistaria  vine.  What 
Maurice  had  endured  during  his  two  weeks  with  the  measles 
nobody  knew  but  himself.  His  days  had  been  lonely,  filled 
with  remorse  that  he  had  ever  been  born  to  give  people 
trouble  and  care;  his  nights  longer  even  than  the  days. 
Hideous  nightmares  had  robbed  him  of  slumber.  Old 
Scroggie's  ghoet  had  visited  him  almost  nightly.  The  Twin 
Oaks  robbers,  ugly,  hairy  giants  armed  with  red-hot 
pitch-forks,  had  bound  him  to  a  tree  and  applied  fire  to  his 
feet.  What  use  to  struggle  or  cry  aloud  for  help  ?  Even 
Billy,  his  dearest  chum,  had  sat  and  laughed  with  all  the 
mouths  of  his  eight  heads  at  his  pain.  Of  course  he  had 
awakened  to  learn  these  were  but  dreams;  but  to  a  boy 
dreams  are  closely  akin  to  reality. 

And  now,  after  days  of  loneliness  and  nights  of  terror, 
Maurice  was  up  again  and  outside  where  he  could  catch  the 
wood-breeze  and  smell  the  sweet  odor  of  plants  and  clearing 
fires.  He  wondered  how  many  years  he  had  been  away 
from  it  alL  How  old  was  he  now?  Why  didn't  his  mother 
answer  his  questions  ?  He  did  not  realize  that  his  voice  was 
weak ;  he  l»ad  forgotten  that  his  mother  was  deaf.  All  he 
knew  was  that  nobody  cared  a  hang  for  him  any  more,  not 
even  his  own  mother.  His  weak  hands  clutched  at  the 
bandage  at  his  throat,  as  though  to  tear  it  off  and  hurl  it 

145 


146  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

from  him.  His  head  sank  weakly  back  against  ifae  wall, 
and  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

Suddenly  those  eyes  opened  wide.  "Was  he  dreaming 
again  or  did  he  hear  the  low  croak  of  a  crow  ?  He  twisted 
his  head.  There  at  his  feet  sat  Croaker.  The  crow's  beady 
eyes  were  fastened  on  him.  Suspended  from  its  neck  was  a 
cord  and  attached  to  the  cord  was  a  piece  of  yellow  wrap- 
ping paper. 

Maurice's  white  face  slowly  expanded  in  a  grin.  He 
glanced  in  the  direction  of  his  mother,  then  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  crow  with  a  lowspoken,  "Come  Croaker,  ol' 
feller." 

But  Croaker  shook  his  head  and  backed  away,  emitting 
a  string  of  unintelligible  utterances. 

"  Come  Croaker,"  pleaded  Maurice  again.  But  the  crow 
was  obdurate.  It  is  barely  possible  that  he  failed  to  recog- 
nize Maurice  owing  to  the  sick  boy's  altered  looks  or  per- 
haps he  expected  a  glimpse  of  the  reward  which  was  always 
his  for  the  performing  of  a  service.  With  one  backward 
look  from  his  bright  eyes,  he  spread  his  short  wings  and 
sailed  across  to  Mrs.  Keeler,  settling  on  her  shoulder  with 
a  harsh  croak,  whereat  that  greatly-startled  lady  sat  down 
on  the  gravel,  her  lap  full  of  dirty  water  and  potatoes. 

What  Mrs.  Keeler  might  have  done  is  not  known,  for 
just  at  this  juncture  a  high-pitched  voice  came  to  her  from 
the  garden  gate.  "  Get  hold  of  him,  Missus  Keeler  an' 
wring  his  black  neck." 

Mrs.  Keeler,  who  heard  the  voice  without  catching  Mrs. 
Wilson's  words,  struggled  up.  Croaker  promptly  sailed 
over  to  Maurice  for  protection.  The  boy  broke  the  string 
attached  to  the  note  from  Billy  and  reaching  behind  him 
secured  from  a  plate  a  scrap  of  the  dinner  he  had  left  un- 
eaten. "  Here  Croaker,"  he  whispered,  "  grab  it  quick. 


OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK      147 

Now,  back  you  go  where  things  are  safe, ' '  and  he  tossed  the 
bird  into  the  air.  Croaker  flew  to  a  tree-top  and  proceeded 
to  enjoy  the  reward  of  service  well  rendered. 

Maurice  glanced  at  the  message,  then  hia  face  fell.  ' '  Oh 
blame  it  all!  "  he  muttered,  "  another  of  Bill's  sign  let- 
ters; looks  like  a  fence  that's  been  struck  by  lightnin'." 

The  several  long  perpendicular  lines  were  possibly  in- 
tended to  represent  the  forest,  but  what  was  meant  by  the 
two  vertical  lines  and  the  crosses  directly  beneath  them 
Maurice  did  not  know.  Also  there  was  a  crudely  drawn  cir- 
cle and,  inside  it,  a  small  square.  Maybe  this  was  supposed 
to  represent  a  hollow  stump  with  a  squirrel-trap  in  it, 
thought  the  perplexed  Maurice.  With  a  sigh  of  disgust  he 
turned  the  paper  over.  Then  his  eyes  brightened.  Writ- 
ten there  in  Billy's  cramped  hand  were  these  words  and 
characters : 


148  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Maurice  stared.  So  that  was  it!  Billy  and  old  Harry 
had  found  the  goods  stolen  from  the  Twin  Oaks  store. 
There  were  doin's —  big  doin's,  and  Billy  wanted  him  in 
on  'em.  He  leaned  over  to  secure  a  view  of  his  mother  and 
Mrs.  Wilson.  Mrs.  Keeler  had  removed  her  wet  apr«n  and 
was  now  seated  on  the  bench  beside  her  neighbor,  listening 
to  the  latest  gossip. 

"  That  Jim  Seroggie,  the  heir,  has  come  back,  an'  he's 
rented  the  Stanley  house,"  Mrs.  Wilson  was  saying.  "  They 
say  he's  goin'  to  cut  down  the  big  woods  an'  sell  the  tim- 
ber. I  guess  he  intends  stayin '  right  on,  'cause  he  brought 
his"  housekeeper  an'  his  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  with 
him." 

"  Is  he  tol'able  well-to-do?  "  Airs.  Keeler  asked. 

"  Why  yes.  I  understand  he's  rich  as  porcupine  stew," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson.  * '  What  he  wants  to  come  here  f  er,  etir- 
rin'  up  trouble,  is  beyond  all  knowin'.  Him  an'  that  man 
Hinter  —  they've  been  trampin'  all  over  the  country  ex- 
aminin'  the  land,  ericks  an'  everythin'.  They  met  up  with 
my  man,  Tom,  on  the  road  yesterday  an'  they  stopped  him. 
Seroggie  told  him  any  time  he  wanted  to  bore  fer  water 
he'd  put  in  a  rig  an'  Tom  needn't  pay  a  cent  if  he  didn't 
get  him  a  well." 

"  Land  o'  Liberty!  but  he  was  generous!  "  cried  Mrs. 
Keeler. 

"  Tom  said  he'd  think  it  over  an'  let  him  know.  I  guess 
he  was  pretty  short  with  Scroggie,  knowin'  as  he  does  that 
the  woods  an'  land  rightly  belong  to  young  Stanhope." 

"  That  it  does,"  agreed  Mrs.  Keeler,  indignantly.  "  An* 
him,  poor  young  man,  helpless  through  lose  of  Ms  eyesight 
and  all.  You  heard,  of  course,  that  Frank  Stanhope  and 
Erie  Landon  had  broke  their  engagement  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  everybody  who  knows  'em  both  an'  loves  'em  both 


OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK  149 

has  heard  that.  But  what  else  could  they  do?  He's  not 
able  to  support  a  wife  —  the  little  farm  is  only  enough 
fer  himself,  after  that  Burke  an'  his  wife  are  paid  fer 
workin'  it  and  lookin'  after  the  house,  an'  he's  too  high- 
spirited  to  ask  Erie  to  share  his  burden  and  poverty." 

Mrs.  Keeler  gulped  and  reached  for  her  apion  but  recol- 
lecting that  she  had  hung  it  up  to  dry,  rubbed  her  eyes 
on  her  sleeve.  "  Cobin  says  that  young  man  is  jest  about 
heartbroke,  spite  o'  the  smile  he  wears,"  she  said.  "  Tries 
so  hard  to  be  cheerful,  too,  in  spite  of  all.  Preacher  Rod- 
dick had  supper  with  us  last  Sunday  night  an'  he  said  the 
teacher  was  the  finest  specimen  of  Christly  example  he'd 
ever  seen. ' ' 

Mrs.  Wilson  cleared  her  throat.  "  They  do  say  that  Mr. 
Hinter  visits  the  light-house  regular  every  week.  Have 
you  heard  that,  Missus  Keeler?  " 

"  Yea,  an'  I'm  wonderin'  why?  " 

Mrs.  Wilson  rose  and  smoothed  down  her  skirt.  "  Well 
I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  to  say  I  know  why,  but  I  have  my 
suspicions,"  she  declared.  "One  thing  I  do  know,  it's 
not  'cause  he 's  so  interested  in  a  man  sick  with  the  asthma. ' ' 

Mra.  Keeler  looked  at  her  sagely.  "  Erie  would  never 
marry  any  man  like  Hinter,"  she  asserted. 

"  You  can't  tell  what  a  girl  '11  do  fer  her  father,"  said 
the  other  woman  dubiously.  "  But  there  now,"  she  broke 
off,  "  here  I  am  visitin'  away  with  you,  jest  as  though 
there  wasn't  a  batch  of  bread  riz  and  kneaded  at  home, 
ready  fer  the  oven.  When  I  looked  fer  my  bread-pans 
blest  a  one  could  I  find.  I  know  that  Billy  has  lugged  'em 
off  somewheres  to  use  as  bath-tubs  fer  his  birds  and  liz- 
ards; so,  thinks  I,  I'll  jest  run  over  an'  ask  Mrs.  Keeler 
fer  the  loan  of  hern. ' ' 

"  Why  to  be  sure,"  rejoined  her  neighbor,  "  come  right 


150  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

along  in  an'  I'll  get  'em.  I  want  you  to  see  how  nice  my 
canned  tomaters  look. ' '  As  they  turned  towards  the  house, 
Mrs.  Wilson  caught  sight  of  Maurice,  huddled  in  the  big 
chair  beneath  the  trailing  vine. 

"  Well,  fer  the  land  sakes  alive,  Maurice!  "  she  cried. 
"  It  is  good  to  see  you  up  ag'in.  You've  had  a  hard  pull  of 
it,  poor  lad.  Dear  heart!  but  it's  thinned  you  a  lot,  too! 
Think  of  any  mortal  boy  changin'  so  in  two  short  weeks." 

Maurice  squirmed.  "It  seemed  a  lot  longer  than  two 
weeks,"  he  said  faintly. 

"  There,  there,"  cried  the  big-hearted  woman,  "  ol  aonrse 
it  did." 

Mrs.  Keeler  edged  forward  distrustfully.  "  What's  that 
he  says  he's  goin'  to  do  in  two  weeks?  "  she  asked,  suspi- 
cion in  her  tones.  "  Cause  if  you  think,  young  man,  you 
be  goin'  to  go  in  swimmin'  ag'in,  inside  two  weeks — "  she 
pointedly  addressed  Maurice,  ' '  you  got  another  think 
eomin '.  I  'm  goin '  to  see  that  you  don 't  suffer  no  re-lapse. ' ' 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  swimmin'  "  wailed  Maurice,  "  but 
I  do  want 'a  walk  a  bit  out  through  the  woods,  Ma." 

"  No."  Mrs.  Keeler  shook  her  head  with  finality,  "  I 
can't  trust  you  out  o'  my  sight.  You  gotta  set  right  there 
where  you  be." 

"  She  don't  know  how  awful  lonesome  it  is  settin'  still 
so  long,"  sighed  Maurice,  casting  an  appealing  eye  on 
Billy's  mother.  "  I  wisht  you'd  ask  her  to  let  me  go  as  far 
as  your  place  with  you,  Missus  Wilson, ' '  he  pleaded,  lower- 
ing his  voice.  "Billy  kin  trail  'long  back  with  me  an'  see 
I  don't  cut  up  any." 

"  Maurice,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Wilson,  smothermg  the 
sympathy  in  her  heart  in  the  clutch  of  duty,  "  it's  wrong 
fer  you  to  take  advantage  of  your  pore  ma's  deefness  this 
way.  I  wouldn't  send  Willium  back  with  you,  amyways. 


OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK  151 

What  devilment  you  wouldn't  think  of  he  certainly  would. 
No,  IT!  ask  your  ma  to  let  you  come,  but  it's  Anson  I'll 
have  bring  yom  home  an '  not  Willium. ' '  And  with  a  frown 
and  a  shake  of  her  head  she  followed  her  neighbor  into 
the  honse. 

Maurice  waited  hopefully  until  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
son came  out  again.  Then  he  turned  eagerly  towards 
them. 

' '  Your  Ma  says  you  kin  come, ' '  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  * '  Pro- 
vidin*  I  don't  let  you  near  the  cookie  jar,  and  see  that 
Anson  brings  you  back  safe." 

"  Mind  you,"  his  mother  admonished  as  he  followed  Mrs. 
Wilson  down  the  path,  "  if  you  come  home  with  wet  feet 
into  bed  you  go  and  stay  'till  snow  flies." 

When  they  reached  the  meadow-path,  with  the  outbuild- 
ings between  them  and  the  watchful  eyes  of  his  mother, 
Maurieo  removed  the  shawl  from  about  his  throat.  "  I 
wont  be  needin'  it  any  more,  now,"  he  said  in  answer  to 
his  companion's  frown  of  protest.  ' '  It  makes  me  too  warm, 
an*  tha  doctor  he  said  whatever  I  did  I  mustn't  sweat." 
Mrg.  Wilson  allowed  the  explanation  to  stand. 

They  climbed  the  rail  fence  and  started  to  cross  the 
stubjble-field.  As  they  neared  the  long  row  of  brown- 
fruited  sumachs  Mrs.  Wilson  paused  and  stood  in  a  listen- 
ing attitude.  "Say,  isn't  that  Willium 's  varmint  of  a  erow 
settin'  up  there  on  that  ash?  "  she  asked,  pointing  to  the 
slender  tree  growing  among  the  sumachs. 

Maurice  shook  his  head.  "  No  ma'am,  that  ain't  him," 
he  said.  "  It's  too  big  fer  Croaker;  it's  a  wild  crow." 

"Is  it!  "  The  woman  started  on  again,  then  halted 
abruptly.  "  Well,  it's  queer  how  much  his  voice  is  like 
William's  crow.  Can't  you  hear  him  mutterin'  and 
croakim'?  " 


152  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Yep,  I  hear  him,  bnt  all  crows  do  that,"  Maurice 
hastened  to  explain.  Then  as  a  shrill  note,  half  a  cluck 
and  half  a  whistle,  sounded  from  the  bushes,  he  added 
quickly.  "That's  a  hen  partridge  callin'.  That  erow's 
tryin'  to  scare  her  off  her  nest,  most  like,  so's  h«  kiji  steal 
the  eggs." 

Again  came  the  low  whistle,  and  Maurice  swayed,  stag- 
gered and  sank  down  on  the  stubble,  with  a  faint  moan. 
"With  a  cry  of  alarm  Mrs.  Wilson  bent  afcoTO  him. 
* '  Maurice !  Maurice  Keeler !  ' '  she  gasped.  ' '  Whatever  is 
wrong?  There  now,  I  knowed  you  was  up  aad  out  too 
soon.  Come  along.  I'm  goin'  to  take  you  straight  back 
home. ' ' 

"  Oh  please  don't  do  that,"  begged  Maurice.  "I'm  jest 
a  little  weak,  that  's  all.  You  leave  me  here  an '  se&d  Anse 
back  to  stay  with  me.  I  do  so  want  to  go  over  in  the  woods 
fer  a  little  while,  Missus  Wilson." 

The  woman  stood  frowning  and  considering.  "  Well," 
she  said  at  length.  "  I'll  go  an'  have  Anson  eoEifl  fer  you 
but  you  see  you  don't  budge  an  inch  till  he  comes." 

"No  ma'am,  he'll  find  me  right  here." 

Maurice  watched  her  until  she  climbed  the  road  fence 
and  entered  the  grove  inside  the  Wilson  gate.  Then  he 
started  crawling  towards  the  sumachs.  As  he  reached  them 
Billy  poked  his  head  from  the  bushes,  a  grin  on  feis  face. 

"  Have  hard  work  gettin'  away  from  her,  Maurwe?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  very.    Gee!  Bill,  it's  good  to  see  you  ag'in." 

"  It's  good  to  see  you  too,  Maurice.  You  got  my  code 
message,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Yep.  Have  you  found  the  stuff  they  stole  from  the 
store,  Bill?  " 

"  You  bet.    Me  an'  old  Harry  know  right  where  it  is. 


OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK  153 

We  ain't  told  another  soul  but  you  and  teaeher  Stanhope 
'bout  it  yet,  but  we're  goin'  to  soon.  Come  on  an'  I'll  show 
you  where  it's  buried." 

"  I  ean't,"  said  Maurice  miserably.  "  Your  Ma 'a  goin'  to 
send  Anse  out  to  keep  tabs  on  me.  If  he  wasn't  such  a 
tattletale  we  might  work  it  but  you  know  him." 

Billy  pursed  up  his  lips  in  thought.  ' '  Say  I  "  he  cried, 
"  I've  got  it.  You  go  on  back  there  where  you  played 
possum,  an'  wait  fer  Anse.  When  he  comes. he's  goin'  to 
beg  a  favor  of  you,  sure  as  shootin'.  He  played  a  dirty 
trick  on  me  not  long  ago  an'  he's  been  keepin'  out  of  my 
way  ever  since.  Lied  to  me  so 's  to  get  me  to  thrash  a  feller 
that  licked  him.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  later.  Anae  is 
goin'  to  ask  you  to  square  it  with  me;  he's  jest  that  kind. 
You  promise  to  get  him  off  this  time  if  he  goes  away  an* 
leaves  you  by  yourself.  Then  you  come  back  here,  see  ?  ' ' 

* '  Yes,  but  if  he  goes  an '  tells  your  Ma,  what  then  ?  ' ' 

11  But  he  won't.  If  he  does  she'll  tan  him  good  fer 
goin'  off  an'  leavin'  you  by  yourself.  You  tell  him  he'll 
have  to  wait  around  here  till  you  get  back.  He'll  do  it, 
all  right.  There  he  comes  through  the  grove  now.  Better 
crawl  back  to  where  Ma  left  you." 

Maurice  dropped  on  all  fours  and  started  wriggling 
through  the  rough  stubble,  sighing  in  relief  as  he  reached 
the  desired  spot.  . 

Anson  was  grinning  as  he  came  up.  "  Kind  'a  weak  on 
the  pins,  eh?  "  he  greeted,  "  Ma  told  me  I  was  to  come 
across  here  an'  see  you  didn't  get  into  no  mischief." 

Maurice  wanted  to  knock  that  grin  off  Anson 's  sneering 
mouth,  but  he  was  in  no  condition  to  do  it.  Besides  it  was 
a  moment  for  diplomacy.  "  Everybody  seems  to  think  I 
want  'a  fall  in  a  well  an'  get  drowned,  er  somethin',"  he 
grumbled.  "  Why  do  I  need  watchin',  I'd  like  to  know?  " 


154  A  SON  OF  COUEAGE 

Anson  chuckled,  ""Well,  you  ain't  goin'  to  get  no  okance 
to  do  any  funny  stunts  this  afternoon,"  he  promised.  "I'm 
here  to  keep  an  eye  on  you. ' ' 

"Which  one?  "  Maurice  asked  sarcastically.  "  The  good 
one  er  the  blacked  one?  " 

Anson 's  face  reddened.  "  You  needn't  get  funny!  "  he 
cried,  angrily.  ' '  Any  feller 's  liable  to  black  an  eye  nmnin ' 
agin  a  tree,  in  the  dark." 

"  Or  a  fist  in  the  daylight,"  grinned  Maurice.  "  Well, 
never  mind,  Anse,"  he  said  consolingly,  "you've  got  one 
good  eye  left,  but  somethin'  tells  me  you  won't  have  it 
long." 

"  What  you  mean?  "  asked  Anson  suspiciously. 

"Why,  I've  got  a  hunch  that  somebody's  layin'  for  you, 
that's  all,"  answered  Maurice.  "  'Course,  I  may  be  wrong. 
Am  I?" 

Anson  squatted  down  beside  Maurice.  "  No,  by  gosh! 
you're  not  so  far  wrong,"  he  admitted,  ruefully.  "  Some- 
body is  layin'  fer  me,  an'  layin'  fer  me  right  It's  Bill. 
Say,  Maurice,  won't  you  try  an'  get  him  to  let  me  off  this 
time.  If  you  will  I  won't  ferget  it  in  a  hurry." 

Maurice  stood  up.    "  Where's  Bill  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  dunno.  Down  where  he  keeps  his  pets  I  s*poee. 
Why?" 

"  Cause  I'm  goin'  down  an'  find  him.  Ill  beg  you  off 
this  time,  Anse,  if  you'll  do  as  I  say." 

"  What  you  mean,  do  as  you  say?  " 

"  You're  to  stay  here  till  I  get  back,  no  matter  hew  long 
I'm  away." 

Anson  considered.  "An'  yon  promise  to  get  BiM  to  let 
me  off?  " 

"  Sure." 

"All  right,  I'll  stay." 


OLD  HARRY  TURNS  A  TRICK  155 

"  Coarse,  if  you  ain't  here  when  I  get  back  the  bar- 
gain's off.  Understand!  " 

Anson  nodded.    "  I'll  be  here,"  he  promised. 

' '  Bill  won 't  bother  you  none  if  you  do  what  I  say, ' '  said 
Maurice  as  he  made  for  the  grove.  Half  an  hour  later  he 
and  Billy  approached  old  Harry's  hut  and  knocked  gently 
on  tke  door.  Harry's  voice  bade  them  enter. 

They  found  him  seated  on  a  stool,  fondling  the  big  grey- 
blue  eat.  He  placed  the  cat  gently  down  as  they  entered. 

"  God  love  ye,  byes,"  he  cried,  "  it's  a  foine  pair  ye  are, 
an'  no  mistake;  so  it's  sick  y've  been,  Maurice?  " 

"Measles,"  said  Maurice. 

Harry  nodded  sympathetically.  "  Faith, '  measles  are  a 
blissin'  in  disguise,  as  are  many  other  afflictions,"  he  said. 
"  Would  ye  relish  a  swate  smell  and  the  colors  av  God's 
big  out  av  doors  so  much,  think  ye,  if  kept  prisoner  from 
thim  ye  never  were?  I'm  thinkin'  not. 

"  Take  meself,"  he  went  on,  drawing  his  stool  closer  to 
the  chairs  of  his  young  friends.  "All  me  life  have  I 
dhrunk  more  er  less  av  the  cup  that  cheers;  but  I'm 
through  now,  byes,  not  so  much  either  because  ut's  a  fit  av 
the  blue  divils  the  stuff  give  me  but  because  I  mane  from 
now  on  to  quaff  the  swate  draft  of  Nature  widout  a  bad 
taste  in  me  mouth.  I'm  through  wid  whisky  feriver,  and 
ut  's  Harry  0  'Dule,  siventh  son  av  a  siventh  son,  so  declares 
himself  this  day.  Ut's  out  into  God's  blissid  sunlight  have 
I  come  afther  bein'  held  prisoner  by  a  deadlier  disease 
than  measles,  me  byes." 

The  tears  came  to  the  old  man's  eyes  as  he  felt  the  sin- 
cere pressure  of  the  hands  held  out  to  him.  "  Begobs!  but 
ut's  a  foine  pair  ye  be,"  he  muttered.  Then  aloud.  "  And 
have  ye  told  him,  Billy?  " 

Billy  nodded. 


156  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Well,  this  much,  more  I'll  be  tellin'  both  av  ye,"  said 
Harry.  "  Just  a  bit  ago  two  strange  min  stopped  at  me 
cabin  dnre.  A  rough  lookin'  pair  they  were,  I'm  sayin'. 
Says  the  big  one  av  the  two:  'Ould  man,'  says  he,  '  do 
ye  know  wan  in  these  parts  named  Hinter?  '  " 

"  'I  know  one  suoh,'  "  sez  I. 

"  '  Then,'  sez  he,  *  wull  yu  do  me  the  favor  ay  deliverin' 
a  missage  to  him  an'  kin  ye  go  now?  '  says  he. 

"  '  I  kin  that,'  says  I." 

"  'And  the  message,'  he  says,  '  this  is  ut:  "  On9  Gib- 
son's Grove  at  tin  o'clock,"  '  says  he." 

"  'All  right,'  says  I,  and  he  put  a  silver  dollar  in  me 
fist  and  wint  away  wid  his  companion. 

"  I  delivered  the  missage  to  Hinter.  And  whin  I 
returned  to  me  cabin  I  found  everythin'  in  a  jumble,  an' 
no  mistake.  Somebody  had  scattered  the  fura  on  me  bunk 
and  turned  everythin'  upside  down,  they  had,  an'  they  had 
sought  underneath  the  flure,  too." 

"  An'  did  they  find  it?  "  gasped  Billy. 

"  Begobs  they  did  not,'  grinned  Harry.  "And  I'll  be 
tellin'  ye  fer  why.  Only  this  blissid  mornin',  uts  took  the 
stuff  from  beneath  me  flure,  I  did,  and  hid  it  in  a  new 
spot." 

Billy  sighed  his  relief.  "  Gee,  but  it's  lucky  you  did," 
he  cried-  "  That's  the  very  thing  Trigger  Finger  Tim 
would  a'  done,  ain't  it,  Maurice?  " 

Maurice  nodded.  "I'm  goin'  to  stick  along  here  aa  help 
you  watch  the  stuff,  Harry.  Them  men  11  likely  come 
prowlin'  back  here." 

"An'  torture  you,  Harry,"  put  in  Billy.  "Tie  you  to 
a  tree  an*  throw  knives  at  you  till  you  weaken  an'  tell  'em 
where  the  stuff's  hid.  That's  what  they  did  to  Trigger 
Finger." 


OLD  HAERY  TURNS  A  TRICK  157 

"  Faith,"  cried  Harry,  "  ut's  divil  a  bit  I  know  con- 
cernin'  that  man  Trigger  Finger,  but  ut's  small  reward 
they'd  be  gettin'  fer  their  pains  if  they  tied  me  up  and 
tried  torture,  an'  I'll  be  tellin'  ye  fer  why,  byes.  The 
stuff's  gone  back  to  Spencer.  Load  ut  I  did  meself  on  Joe 
Scraff's  buckboard,  not  more  than  an  hour  agone.  The  box 
wid  the  black  fox  skins  an'  two  big  jugs  av  whisky.  Back 
I  sent  ut  all,  byes,  wid  the  compliments  av  the  both  av  ye 
an'  me  poor  self.  But  now  it'll  be  there,  and  the  heart 
av  ould  Caleb  '11  be  beatin'  two  skips  fer  one  wid  jye  at 
recoverin'  all  av  his  stolen  possessions.  I  did  right,  I  hope 
now,  in  sindin '  ut  along  back  ?  "  he  finished. 

"  You  bet  you  did!  "  cried  the  boys,  together. 

Maurieo  stood  up.  "  Well,  as  there's  no  need  to  keep 
watch  here,  maybe  I  best  trail  along  home.  AnseTl  be 
gettin'  tired  waitin'  fer  me." 

' '  That  won 't  hurt  him ;  he 's  always  tired  anyway, ' ' 
rejoined  Billy.  "  But  we'd  best  go." 

At  the  door  he  paused  and  turned  toward  Harry. 
"  Where's  Gibson's  Grove?  "  he  asked. 

Harry,  who  had  picked  up  his  hat  and  taken  his  tin 
whistle  from  his  bosom,  shook  his  head.  "  There's  no  seen 
place,  I'm  thinkin',"  he  answered. 

Billy  frowned.  "  What  did  Hinter  say  when  you  gave 
him  the  message,  Harry?  " 

Harry  chuckled.  "  Faith,  ut's  crazy  he  thought  I  was 
I  guess,"  he  cried.  "  '  Ould  man,'  sez  he,  'somebody  has 
been  playin'  a  trick  on  ye.  I  know  no  such  place  as  Gib- 
son's Grove.'  Thin  begobs!  he  laughed,  like  he  saw  the 
humor  av  ut,  and  had  me  sate  meself  in  the  shade  and 
smoke  a  eigar  while  I  risted.  So  I'm  thinkin',  byes,  them 
min  jest  wanted  to  get  rid  av  me  the  while  they  ransacked 
me  hooBtt  and  belongin's,  bad  cess  to  'em!  " 


158  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Billy  laughed.  "  Come  along  as  far  as  the  dearin' 
Harry,"  he  invited,  "  and  play  us  a  tune  that'll  cheer 
Maurice  up,  will  you?  " 

"  Faith,  an'  that  I'll  do,"  cried  O'Dule.  "  lalt  him  a 
ehune  I  wull  that'll  make  his  laggin'  feet  dance,  and  his 
laggin'  spirit  look  up  above  the  slough  av  despond." 

And  so  down  the  path  ridged  with  the  bronze  bars  of 
late  afternoon  sunlight,  they  passed,  Harry  strutting  in 
the  lead,  wrinkled  face  lifted,  scanty  white  locks  streaming 
in  the  breeze  as  he  drew  from  his  whistle  a  wild  sweet 
melody. 

"  There  now,"  he  cried,  when  at  last  the  clearing  was 
reached,  and  the  whistle  was  tucked  away  in  the  bosom 
of  his  flannel  shirt,  "  I'll  be  partin'  wid  ye  now,  byes,  fer 
a  spell.  Over  to  Spencer's  store  I'll  be  goin',  to  glimpse  the 
jye  in  his  eyes,  and  axe  him  to  trust  me  fer  a  few  groceries 
I  '11  be  needin '  till  me  next  allowance  arrives  from  tke  home 
land.  And  ut's  no  doubt  I  have  in  me  mind  that  hell  do 
ut  gladly,  fer  ut's  a  tinder  man  he  is  at  heart  Mi'  no 
mistake." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BILLY'S   PROBLEMS   MULTIPLY 

Recovery  of  the  stolen  goods  caused  considerable  excite- 
ment in  the  Settlement.  For  a  week  or  so  nothing  else  was 
talked  of  and  conjecture  ran  rife  as  to  why  the  thieves  had 
not  made  off  with  their  pillage  rather  than  hide  it  in  the 
haunted  house.  Harry  O'Dule  came  in  for  a  plenty  of 
praise  for  the  part  he  had  played  in  finding  the  loot  but 
beyond  hinting  that  the  job  had  been  more  than  easy  for 
the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son,  he  was  reticent  on  the 
subject.  That  he  should  have  returned  the  liquor  almost 
intact,  to  the  owner,  was  a  conundrum  to  all  who  knew 
him,  with  the  exception  of  Billy  and  Maurice. 

Billy  was  anything  but  easy  in  his  mind  during  these 
exciting  days.  Who  were  the  two  strangers  who  had 
searched  old  Harry's  hut?  Were  they  the  same  two  he 
and  Maurice  had  seen  in  the  woods  on  the  night  of  the 
storm  f  If  so,  why  did  they  send  a  message  to  Hinter,  and 
what  was  its  significance?  Where  was  Gibson's  Grove, 
anyway  ?  These  questions  bothered  him,  and  pondering 
upon  them  robbed  him  of  appetite  and  sleep.  Maurice  and 
Elgin  were  no  help  to  him  in  a  dilemma  of  this  kind  and 
the  new  boy,  Jim  Scroggie,  he  knew  scarcely  well  enough 
to  trust. 

It  was,  perhaps,  just  as  well  for  Anson  that  he  kept  out 
of  Billy 's  way  during  this  period.  However  very  little  that 
Billy  did  was  missed  by  his  pale  blue  eyes.  He  knew  that 
his  step-brother  had  visited  the  haunted  house  alone  and 
had  searched  it  nook  and  corner.  For  what  ?  He  had  seen 

159 


160  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

him  fasten  his  rabbit-foot  to  a  branch  of  a  tree  and  dig, 
and  dig.  For  what  ?  He  wanted  to  find  out  but  dared  not 
ask.  Perhaps  Billy  was  going  crazy!  He  acted  like  it. 
Anson  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  confide  his  sus- 
picions in  his  mother.  But  on  the  very  day  that  he  had 
decided  to  pour  into  Mrs.  Wilson's  ear  all  the  strange 
goings-on  of  his  brother,  Billy  caught  him  out  on  a  forest- 
path  alone  and,  gripping  him  by  the  shoulder,  threatened 
to  conjure  up  by  means  of  witchcraft  at  his  command  a 
seven-headed  dragon  with  cat-fish  hooks  for  claws  who 
would  rip  his  —  Anson 's  —  soul  to  shreds  if  he  so  much  as 
breathed  to  his  mother  one  word  of  what  he  had  seen, 

In  vain  Anson  declared  he  didn't  know  anything  to  tell. 
Billy  looked  at  him  calmly.  "You  been  follerin'  me  an'  I 
know  it/'  he  said.  "  Croaker  saw  you,  an'  so  did  Ringdo." 

Anson's  mouth  fell  open  in  terror.  "  You  don't 
mean — "  he  commenced,  then  gulped,  unable  to  proceed. 

"  That  Croaker's  a  witch?  Of  course  he's  a  witch,  an' 
so 's  Ringdo.  They  both  know  exactly  what  you  're  thinkin ', 
an'  what  you're  doin'.  Listen,  you,",  as  Anse  shivered. 
"  Didn't  you  dream,  jest  t'other  night,  that  Croaker  was 
bendin*  over  you  to  peck  your  eyes  out?  " 

Anse  nodded  a  reluctant  admission. 

"  Well,  s 'pose  it  wasn't  any  dream?  S'pose  it  was  all 
real?  An'  s'pose,  if  I  hadn't  waked  up  in  time  to  stop 
him,  he'd  have  picked  your  eyes  out  an'  put  in  fisheyee  in 
their  plaae?  Then  you  couldn't  see  anythin'  unless  you 
was  under  water.  An'  s'pose,  when  I  asked  Croaker  what 
he  wanted  to  do  that  awful  thing  fer,  he  up  an'  told  me 
that  you'd  been  spyin'  on  me  an'  you  didnrt  deserve  to 
own  human  eyes?  I  say  s'pose  all  this.  Now  then,  Anse, 
you  best  mind  your  own  business  an'  let  your  mouth  freeze 
up  close,  else  you're  goin'  to  have  an  awful  time  of  it  If 


BILLY'S  PROBLEMS  MULTIPLY  161 

I  get  Croaker  to  say  he  won't  gouge  your  eyes  out  till  I 
give  the  word  it 's  more  'n  you  deserve. ' ' 

Hope  stirred  in  Anson's  fear  ridden  soul — hope  which 
Billy  remorselessly  killed  with  his  next  words. 

' '  But  I  couldn  't  get  no  promise  out  'o  Ringdo.  He  says 
you  're  workin '  'gainst  us. ' ' 

"  But  I  ain't,  Bill.  Cross  my  heart,  I  ain't,"  protested 
Anson.  "  Why  should  I  be!  " 

"  Maybe  jest  'cause  you're  a  sneak,"  Billy  answered, 
"but  you're  my  brother  an'  I  don't  want  anythin'  horrible 
to  happen  to  you  if  I  kin  help  it.  The  best  thing  fer  you 
to  do  is  keep  mum,  an'  when  you  see  me  strikin'  off  any- 
where look  t'other  way." 

"  An'  you  11  see  that  Ringdo  don't  bite  me,  Bill?  " 
pleaded  Aneon.  ' '  You  '11  keep  him  off  me,  won 't  you  ?  ' ' 

Billy  considered,  "  I'll  try,"  he  promised,  "  but  it's 
goin'  to  take  a  whole  lot  of  coaxin'  to  do  it.  That  old 
witchcoon  has  been  prowlin'  down  through  the  tamarack 
swale  huntin'  copperhead  snakes  for  a  week  now,  gettin' 
ready  to  do  fer  somebody  er  other." 

"  Oh  goliies!  "  gasped  Anson.  "  What's  he  huntin'  cop- 
perheads fer,  Bill?  " 

"  Why  to  poison  his  teeth  with.  He's  loadin'  up  fer 
somebody,  sure  as  shootin'.  Gosh!  I  am  sorry  you've  been 
sech  a  fool,  Anse.  Jest  think,  one  little  scratch  from  that 
coon's  teeth  and —  " 

"  Bill,"  Anson's  voice  was  husky  with  terror.  "You 
won't  let  him  touch  me,  will  you,  Bill?  " 

"I'll  keep  him  away  from  you  so  long  as  you  keep  away 
from  us,  an'  hold  a  close  tongue  in  your  head,"  Billy  prom- 
ised. "  Understan',  though,  it's  goin'  to  be  a  mighty  hard 
thing  to  do;  I  saw  him  trying  the  bark  of  that  elm  jest 
under  our  winder  only  this  mornin'.  He's  likely  aimin'  to 


162  A  SON  OP  COURAGE 

shin  up  that  tree  an'  fall  on  your  face,  most  any  night,  so 
if  you  want  your  eyes  an'  your  life  you'd  better  do  what 
I  say." 

"  111  do  jest  as  you  say,  Bill,"  Anse  promised,  fervently, 
and  Billy  knew  that  he  meant  it.  "All  right,  that's  a  go," 
he  said  and  went  off  to  the  menagerie  to  feed  his  pets. 


Something  else  was  to  happen  shortly  to  make  Billy  feel 
that  his  world  was  full  of  mysterious  agents  sent  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  give  him  fresh  worries. 

That  evening,  as  he  drove  the  cattle  down  along  the 
Causeway  for  water  he  met  two  teams  of  horses  hauling 
loads  of  greasy-looking  timbers  and  black,  oily  pipes.  The 
men  who  drove  the  teams  were  strangers  to  him.  Scroggie, 
or  Heir  Scroggie,  as  he  was  now  commonly  called  in  the 
neighborhood,  sat  beside  the  driver  of  one  of  the  wagons. 

"  He's  movin'  a  saw-mill  up  into  the  big  woods,"  thought 
Billy.  "  But  where  in  the  world  did  it  come  from?  "  he 
pondered  as  he  looked  after  the  creaking  loads. 

He  was  not  long  to  remain  in  doubt  on  that  point.  As 
he  approached  the  lake  road  another  load  of  timbers  and 
metal  rounded  the  corner.  Two  men  were  seated  on  the 
load,  a  big,  broad-shouldered  man  and  a  thin  one.  Some 
little  distance  behind  another  man  was  walking.  It  was 
Hinter. 

As  the  load  drew  close  to  where  Billy  stood  partly  con- 
cealed by  a  clump  of  red  willows,  the  driver  halted  his 
team  for  a  rest  after  the  pull  through  the  heavy  sand,  and 
apparently  not  noticing  the  boy,  spoke  in  guarded  tones  to 
his  companion. 

"  If  I  had  only  listened  to  you,  Jack,  we  wouldn't  have 
]  ^t  that  whisky, ' '  he  said.  "  I  was  dead  sure  nobody  would 


BILLY'S  PROBLEMS  MULTIPLY  16a 

go  near  that  place.  And  at  that  we  didn't  find  what  we  did 
the  job  to  get,  did  we?  It'll  be  just  our  luck  to  have  that 
will  turn  up  in  time  to  cook  our  goose,  yet." 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  reckon  it's  none  of  our  funeral  whether 
it  turns  up  or  not,"  growled  the  other.  "We're  gettin' 
paid  well  fer  what  we're  doin',  ain't  we?  If  it  turns  up, 
Scroggie  and  the  boss  '11  have  to  do  their  own  worryin'." 

The  driver  cracked  his  whip  and  the  load  went  on,  sway- 
ing and  creaking  as  it  left  the  soft  sand  for  the  corduroy. 

A  little  further  on  Billy  came  face  to  face  with  Hinter. 
"  How  are  you,  Billy  ?  "  spoke  the  man,  pleasantly.  "  Still 
driving  the  cows  down  to  the  lake  for  water,  I  see." 

"Yep;  they  don't  seem  to  take  to  the  crick  water, "" 
Billy  replied.  "  It's  sort  of  scummy  an'  smells  queer." 

Hinter  laughed  constrainedly.  "I've  been  pretty  well 
through  the  Settlement,  and  most  of  the  creeks  are  like 
that, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  What  do  you  suppose  causes  that  scum 
and  that  peculiar  odor  ?  "  he  asked,  casually. 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  ' '  I  dunno ;  them  cricks  shouldn't 
be  that  way;  they're  all  gpring-fed.  Maybe  you  know?  " 
looking  straight  into  Hinter 's  eyes. 

"  No,"  said  Hinter,  startled  at  the  directness  of  look 
and  question.  "  I  don't  know." 

He  turned  abruptly  away  to  follow  the  wagons  but 
Billy 's  voice  stopped  him. 

"  Mr.  Hinter,  where  did  that  stuff  on  them  wagons  come 
from?  " 

"  Why,  it  belongs  to  Mr.  Scroggie,"  Hinter  answered. 
"  It  was  brought  across  from  Ohio  by  schooner.  You  know 
what  it  is,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  take  it  it's  machinery  an'  stuff  for  a  saw-mill," 
answered  Billy  moodily.  "  Is  it?  " 

"  No.    It's  a  couple  of  boring  rigs,  Billy.    Mr.  Scroggie 


164  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

is  going  to  earn  the  good  will  of  all  of  us  here  by  boring  for 
water  and  giving  us  fine  wells  on  our  farms.  Don't  you 
think  that  is  mighty  good  of  him  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  sir.  If  we  had  a  good  well  I  wouldn't  have  to 
drive  the  cows  down  to  the  lake  every  night,  like  this." 

"  That's  so,  Billy."  Hinter  laughed  and  slapped  the 
lad's  shoulder.  "  Well  I'll  see  that  he  bores  on  your 
daddy's  farm  just  as  soon  as  he  strikes  water  on  his  own. 
I  intend  to  help  him  get  started,  because  I  think  it's  going 
to  be  a  good  thing  for  everybody.  Besides,  I  know  boring- 
rigs  from  bit  to  derrick.  It's  my  trade,  you  see." 

Billy  nodded.  "An*  is  the  schooner  still  anchored  off 
here?  "  he  asked.  "  I  might  take  a  fish-boat  an'  row  out 
to  her,  if  she  is." 

' '  No, ' '  Hinter  answered.  ' '  She  didn  't  anchor  off  here ; 
water's  too  shallow.  She  anchored  off  Gibson's  Grove,  five 
miles  up  the  point.  She's  on  her  way  back  to  Cleveland 
by  now." 

He  was  already  several  paces  away,  anxious  to  overtake 
the  wagon.  Billy  stood  looking  after  him,  a  frown  on  his 
brow.  ' '  Gibson 's  Grove, ' '  he  repeated.  ' '  So  that 's  where 
Gibson 's  Grove  is !  "  Then  the  message  which  the  strangers 
had  sent  by  old  Harry  might  have  had  some  significance, 
after  all. 

Billy  passed  on  slowly  after  his  cows,  up  through  the 
spicy  pines  to  the  pebbled  beach  of  the  lake,  pondering  for 
a  solution  to  the  biggest  problem  his  young  mind  had  ever 
had  to  wrestle  with.  He  seated  himself  on  the  prow  of  the 
big  fish-boat,  his  eyes  on  the  thirsty  cattle  now  belly-deep 
in  the  blue  water,  drinking  their  fill.  Along  the  shore  stood 
the  big  reels  used  for  holding  the  seines  and  nets  when  not 
in  use.  The  twine  had  been  newly  coal-tarred  and  the 
pungent  odor  of  the  tar  mingled  pleasingly  with  the  breath 


BILLY'S  PROBLEMS  MULTIPLY  165 

of  pine  and  the  sweet  freshness  of  the  sun-warmed  water. 

Billy's  eyes  strayed  to  those  reels  and  he  sighed  to  think 
that  the  washing  and  retarring  of  the  nets  was  just  another 
sign  that  the  glad  summer  holidays  would  soon  be  over  and 
the  drab  days  of  fall — and  school — would  soon  be  there. 
A  low-flying  flock  of  black  ducks  passed  over  his  head  in 
flight  from  the  lake 's  bosom  where  they  had  rested  through 
the  day  to  the  marsh  feeding  ground*  across  the  point,  and 
the  shadow  passed  from  the  boy's  face. 

After  all  fall  had  its  compensations.  Glorious  days 
beneath  lowering  skies  in  a  wind-whipped  blind  were 
before  him ;  stormy  days  when  the  ducks  would  sweep  in  to 
his  decoys  and  his  old  "  double-barrel  "  would  take  toll. 
If  only  Frank  Stanhope  was  to  be  the  teacher  instead  of 
that  cold-eyed,  mean  looking  Johnston.  He  knew  he  would 
not  get  along  with  Johnston.  And  school  was  to  open  on 
Monday.  Great  Scott !  The  very  thought  made  him  shiver. 

The  cows  waded  to  shore  slowly,  pausing  to  brush  the 
troublesome  flies  from  bulging  sides  with  moist  noses,  halt- 
ing to  drink  again  and  again,  loath  to  leave  this  great 
body  of  cool  delicious  water.  Billy  did  not  hurry  them. 
He  thought  he  understood  their  feelings  in  the  matter.  It 
would  be  a  long  while  before  they  would  have  a  chance  to 
drink  again.  It  must  be  awful,  he  reasoned,  to  have  to  do 
without  a  drink  so  long.  The  thought  made  him  thirsty. 
With  his  hands  he  scooped  a  hole  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
lake,  and  slowly  the  miniature  well  filled  with  milky  water, 
which  immediately  cleared,  and  lay  before  him  limpid  and 
sweet  and  fit  for  king  or  thirsty  boy. 

He  stretched  himself  full  length  on  the  sand,  and  drank. 
When  he  arose,  wiping  his  mouth,  the  cows  had  moved  off 
lazily  towards  the  Causeway.  Billy  did  not  follow  at  once. 
He  did  not  want  to  miss  the  dance  of  the  fire-flies  above 


166  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

the  darkening  marsh,  along  the  Causeway,  the  twilight 
blush  on  the  pine  tips  of  Point  Aux  forest,  the  light-house 
gleam,  nor  the  prayer-time  hush  of  the  mystery-filled 
rush-land.  So  he  tarried  beside  the  lake  until  the  pines 
and  cedars  had  melted  into  indistinct  masses  and  the  call 
of  the  whip-poor-will  sounded  faintly  from  far  away.  Then 
he  turned  homeward. 

As  he  left  the  pine  grove  for  the  main  road  he  discerned 
a  lone  figure  standing  on  the  Causeway,  with  head  lifted 
and  turned  towards  the  still  faintly  glowing  west,  and  his 
footsteps  quickened. 

"  Teacher,"  he  cried  in  surprise,  "  you  here?  " 

Prank  Stanhope  turned  slowly  and  held  out  his  hands. 

<f  Billy  Boy,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  had  to  come,  at 
last.  Every  time  you  have  offered  to  guide  me  to  this  old 
spot  we  knew  and  loved  and  enjoyed  together  I  have 
refused  because  —  because  I  thought  I  couldn't  stand  it; 
because  I  am  unable  to  see  what  my  heart  and  senses  tell 
me  is  here.  But  tonight  I  groped  my  way  down,  knowing 
that  you  would  find  me  and  help  me  home. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  Billy's  shoulder,  and  turned  once 
again  toward  the  bay.  "  I  am  blind,"  he  said,  softly, 
' '  but  I  can  tell  you  how  it  looks  across  yonder.  There 's  a 
white  splash  of  water  between  deep  shadows,  and  there's 
just  a  faint  tinge  of  crimson  above  the  tree-tops.  The  mist 
is  rising  off  the  marsh;  the  fire-flies  are  playing  cross-tag 
above  the  cat-tails.  The  light-house  —  ' ' 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  the  boy  felt  the  hand  on  his 
shoulder  tremble. 

"  You  tell  me,  Billy,"  he  said  huskily  —  "  tell  me  if  the 
light  shines  as  brightly  as  when  we  watched  it  together." 

"  Why,  teacher,  it's  jest  as  bright  as  ever,"  cried  the 
boy.  "  It  fair  seems  to  laugh  as  it  swings  'round  an' 


167 

jumps  down  the  bay  like  a  long,  white  arm." 

"  Does  it,  Billy,  does  it?  "  cried  the  man,  eagerly. 

"  Yep,  an'  every  thin'  else  is  jest  like  you  said,  too,  only 
the  red  streaks  have  gone  from  above  the  trees  now." 

"  But  the  light  is  the  same,  isn't  it,  Billy?  " 

"  Jest  the  same  as  ever.  There,  teacher,  it  fair  laughed 
right  out  at  us  then." 

"  Did  it,  Billy,  did  it?  And  is  my  face  turned  towards 
it  now,  Billy?  " 

"  Not  quite.    There,  now  you  are  faein'  it." 

"  Thanks.  Now  you  mustn't  tell  me  when  it  comes  again 
—  the  light  —  I  want  to  see  if  I  can  feel  it.  I  hope —  " 

He  caught  his  breath  and  stood  with  lifted  face,  aa  the 
white  light  swept  it,  lingered  on  it,  drew  from  it  reluctantly. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  whispered,  and  stood  trembling. 
Then,  as  though  to  himself,  he  said  softly :  "  It  is  as  though 
her  soft  hand  touched  these  eyes  that  will  never  see  again." 

Then,  as  the  first  note  of  a  night-bird  came  soft  and 
fluted  from  a  distant  willow  copse,  Billy  took  his  hand  and 
drew  him  up  along  the  corduroy  road  stretching  through 
the  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BILLY  MEETS  A  DIVINITY 

Billy  spent  the  days  preceding  the  reopening  of  the 
Valley  School  much  as  a  criminal  awaiting  execution  might 
spend  his  last  hours  of  life.  The  fact  that  Trigger  Finger 
Tim  had  always  accepted  the  inevitable  sentence  of  fate 
with  calm  and  undaunted  spirit  was  the  one  buoy  to  which 
he  might  cling  in  a  turbulent  sea  of  uncertainty.  There 
had  been  so  much  to  do;  so  little  had  been  done.  The 
hiding  place  of  old  Scroggie's  will  was  still  a  secret;  no 
check  had  been  put  upon  the  preparations  of  the  inter- 
loper who  claimed  to  be  the  heir  of  the  Scroggie  estate; 
the  mystery  surrounding  the  store  robbery  remained  a 
mystery ;  his  friend  Frank  Stanhope  was  growing  thin  and 
pale  from  secret  suffering.  And  on  Monday  morning  the 
Valley, School  would  open! 

It  was  tough !  Billy  felt  sure  that  had  he  been  allowed 
a  little  more  time  he  might  have  solved  one  or  more  of  the 
problems  which  weighed  him  down.  He  felt  like  a  man 
who  was  being  cut  suddenly  off  from  his  usefulness.  Sat- 
urday he  spent  roaming  the  big  woods  alone.  On  Satur- 
day evening  Maurice  came  over  and  the  two  went  down  to 
Levee  Creek,  set  sail  in  the  old  punt  and  steered  up-bay 
towards  the  light-house. 

Arriving  they  found  Hinter  there,  so  did  not  remain 
long.  It  was  while  Erie  Landon  was  preparing  a  lunch 
for  them  that  Billy  got  an  opportunity  to  whisper  some- 
thing in  her  ear.  The  girl's  cheeks  flushed  and  her  blue 
eyes  grew  deep  with  feeling. 

168 


BILLY  MEETS  A  DIVINITY  169 

"  You  tell  him,  Billy  Boy,  that  the  light  he  feels  is  my 
promise  of  fidelity,"  she  said  softly,  "  my  love,  my  pray- 
ers, my  hope.  And  tell  him  that  I  know  all  will  be  well." 

That  night,  after  separating  from  Maurice,  Billy  went 
over  to  the  Stanhope  cottage.  It  was  late  but  Frank  Stan- 
hope was  standing  beside  the  white  gate,  his  arms  folded 
on  its  top,  his  chin  upon  them. 

He  raised  his  face  at  sound  of  the  boy's  step.  "  Ho, 
Billy!  "  he  called  cheerfully.  "  Is  it  you?  " 

"  Yes,  teacher,"  Billy  came  close  to  him  and  the  two 
stood  for  a  long  time  in  the  silence  of  mute  understanding. 
Then  the  boy  delivered  the  message  just  as  Erie  had  whis- 
pered it.  Stanhope  did  not  speak.  He  simply  lifted  his 
face  to  the  stars,  eyes  streaming,  lips  moving  dumbly. 
Billy  moved  softly  away  through  the  shadows. 

Next  day  was  Sunday  and  Billy  did  not  like  Sundays. 
They  meant  the  scrubbing  of  his  face,  ears  and  neck  with 
"  Old  Brown  Windsor  "  soap  until  it  fairly  cracked  if  he 
so  much  as  smiled,  and  being  lugged  off  with  his  parents 
and  Anse  to  early  forenoon  Sunday  School  in  the  little 
frame  church  in  the  Valley.  There  was  nothing  interesting 
about  Sunday  School ;  it  was  the  same  old  hum-drum  over 
and  over  again  —  same  lessons,  same  teachers,  same  hymns, 
same  tunes;  with  Deacon  Ringold's  assertive  voice  cutting 
in  above  all  the  other  voices  both  in  lessons  and  singing 
and  with  Mrs.  ScrafTs  shrill  treble  reciting,  for  her  class's 
edification,  her  pet  verse:  "  Am  I  nothing  to  thee,  all  ye 
who  pass  by  T  "  —  only  Mrs.  Scraff  always  improvised  more 
or  less  oa  the  scriptures,  and  usually  threw  the  verse  defi- 
antly from  her  is  this  form:  "  You  ain't  nuthin  to  me, 
all  you  who  pass  me  by." 

Billy  knew  exactly  what  he  was  going  to  hear  at  Sunaay 
School,  and  what  he  was  going  to  see,  and  there  wasn't 


170  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

much  of  interest  in  that  for  a  live  boy.  Consequently  he 
was  quite  unprepared  for  the  unexpected  shock  he  received 
on  this  particular  morning,  when  he  trailed  dejectedly  into 
the  Sunday  School  room  behind  his  mother  and  Anson. 

As  he  passed  up  the  aisle  something  strange  and  mys- 
terious seemed  to  draw  his  eyes  toward  a  certain  spot.  He 
looked  and  there,  gazing  at  him  from  eyes  of  blue,  rose- 
bud lips  half  parted  in  a  smile,  was  a  girl  —  and  such  a 
girl! 

Billy  stood  stock  still  in  the  aisle  and  stared  at  the  vision 
of  loveliness.  She  was  dressed  in  white  and  her  hair  was 
curly  and  as  golden  as  that  of  the  pictured  angel  in  his 
mother 's  Bible.  Never  before  had  he  seen  such  a  gloriously 
beautiful  creature. 

He  became  conscious  that  the  droning  hum  of  teachers 
and  classes  had  given  place  to  hushed  calm;  that  all  eyes 
were  turned  upon  him,  standing  there  in  the  aisle  and 
staring  at  this  picture  of  absolute  perfection.  With  an 
effort  he  drew  his  eyes  away  and  stumbled  forward  to  his 
place  in  class. 

Several  times  during  the  next  half  hour  Billy,  allowing 
his  gaze  to  wander  across  the  church,  caught  those  blue 
eyes  fastened  upon  him  and  his  heart  began  to  flutter 
strangely.  An  ungovernable  desire  to  misbehave  himself 
took  possession  of  him.  Never  in  his  life  had  his  head  felt 
so  light  —  unless  it  was  the  night  when  he  and  Maurice 
had  inadvertently  mistaken  hard  cider  for  sweet  and  had 
nearly  disgraced  themselves.  He  was  not  even  aware  of 
who  was  beside  him  on  his  seat,  until  a  pair  of  stubby 
fingers  pinched  his  leg  and  he  came  down  to  earth  to  look 
into  Jim  Scroggie's  grinning  face. 

"  Oh,  hello,"  he  whispered,  coldly.  He  was  irritated  at 
such  unwarranted  interruption  of  his  soul-feast.  He  settled 


BILLY  MEETS  A  DIVINITY  171 

low  in  his  seat  and  pretended  to  give  his  attention  to  the 
teacher,  Cobin  Keeler. 

Jim  nudged  him.  "  What  you  think  of  her?  "  he  asked 
proudly. 

Billy  frowned.    "Who?" 

Jim  nodded  across  to  the  girl  in  white.  "  That's  Lou," 
he  informed  Billy,  "my  sister." 

Billy  gave  such  a  perceptible  start  that  he  knocked  the 
"  Sunday  Lesson  Helps  "  sheet  out  of  the  hands  of  Elgin 
Scraff,  on  his  left.  That  this  snub-nosed,  flat-faced,  beefy 
boy  beside  him  could  possibly  be  a  brother  to  the  dainty, 
angelic  creature  who  had  caused  his  heart  to  turn  such 
violent  flip-flops  and  disorganize  his  whole  mental  poise 
was  inconceivable. 

And  still,  it  must  be  true.  Immediately  his  manner 
towards  Scroggie  underwent  a  change.  All  the  antipathy 
that  a  woods-born  boy  can  feel  toward  a  eity-bred  one 
vanished  suddenly  at  the  intelligence  imparted  to  him.  It 
was  the  look  of  true  comradeship,  the  smile  that  always 
won  him  confidence  and  fidelity,  that  he  gave  Jim  now,  as 
he  whispered:  "  Any  time  you  want 'a  borrie  my  shot-gun, 
Jim,  jest  let  me  know." 

Scroggie  beamed.  Being  the  son  of  his  father  he  lacked 
nothing  in  astuteness.  He  realized,  as  all  brothers  realize 
sooner  or  later,  that  a  pretty  sister  is  an  asset. 

"  An*  the  punt  too?  "  he  asked. 

Billy  nodded.  Jim,  had  he  but  known  it,  might  have 
had  everything  Billy  owned,  including  Croaker,  Bingdo, 
Moll  and  the  pups. 

Mr.  Keeler  had  finished  the  reading  of  the  lesson,  skip- 
ping most  of  the  big  words  and  laying  particular  stress  on 
those  he  was  sure  of,  and  had  stood  up  facing  his  class  of 
boys,  to  ask  them  certain  questions  pertaining  to  the  lesson, 


172  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

thereby  bringing  all  whispered  conversation  to  a  halt.  He 
cleared  his  throat  and  ran  a  critical  eye  down  the  line  of 
upturned  faces.  When  Mr.  Keeler  asked  a  question  it  was 
in  a  booming  voice  that  carried  from  pulpit  to  ante-room 
of  the  building. 

"  Kin  any  boy  in  this  here  class  tell  me  why  Christ 
walked  on  the  sea  of  Galilee?  "  he  now  asked. 

Nobody  answered.  Billy,  casting  a  quick  glance  across 
the  aisle,  found  Lou  Scroggie's  blue  eyes  watching  him 
intently.  They  seemed  to  say  "  Surely,  you  can  answer 
that." 

Billy  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat.  He  was  sorry  now 
that  he  had  not  paid  closer  attention  to  the  reading  of  the 
lesson. 

"  Why  did  Christ  walk  on  the  sea  of  Galilee?  "  repeated 
Mr.  Keeler,  folding  his  arms  impressively  and  looking 
hard  at  Billy,  who  once  more  shot  a  side-long  glance  across 
the  room.  The  blue  eyes  were  wide  open  with  wonder  and 
astonishment  now,  that  he  could  not  answer  so  simple  a 
question  as  that.  Billy's  mind  worked  with  lightning 
speed.  He  would  answer  that  question  if  it  coat  him  his 
life.  Promptly  he  stood  up. 

Mr.  Keeler  looked  surprised;  so  did  Billy's  elass-mates; 
eo  did  all  members  of  all  the  classes  and  the  teachers.  So 
did  Billy  himself.  The  drowsy  hum  of  reciting  voices 
died  suddenly  and  a  great  stillness  succeeded  it.  It  seemed 
to  Billy  that  he  was  standing  alone  on  top  of  a  flimsy 
scaffold,  hundreds  of  feet  in  the  air,  waiting  for  Mr. 
Keeler,  high  executioner,  to  spring  the  trap-door  that 
would  launch  him  into  oblivion. 

He  glanced  at  the  window.  It  was  raised  but  a  few 
inches;  exit  was  effectively  closed  in  that  direction.  He 
made  up  his  mind  to  reach  for  his  hat  and  walk  with  dig- 


BILLY  MEETS  A  DIVINITY  173 

nity  from  the  class,  the  church  and  those  soulless,  sinister- 
faced  people  who  watched  and  waited  gloatingly  for  his 
downfall.  No,  there  was  still  a  better  plan.  He  would 
stagger  and  grope  his  way  out  like  one  who  had  been  sud- 
denly stricken  with  sickness.  Yes,  that  was  what  he 
would  do. 

Then  through  the  haze  of  uncertainty  two  wide  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  meet  his  own ;  eyes  that  smiled  to  him  confidence 
in  his  ability  to  make  good;  eyes  that  said  as  plainly  as 
words:  "  I  knew  you  could  do  it." 

Billy  braced  himself.  At  the  same  time  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Anson's  leering  face  and  inwardly  vowed  that 
that  young  man  should  have  plenty  of  reason  to  regret 
that  leer. 

Mr.  Keeler  was  leaning  across  the  back  of  the  long  seat, 
smiling  commendingly  upon  him. 

"  William  Wilson  will  tell  us  why  Christ  walked  on  the 
sea  of  Galilee,"  he  boomed.  "  Come  William,  answer  up, 
my  boy." 

Billy  drew  in  his  breath  hard.  He  fully  intended  that 
none  of  those  straining  ears  should  miss  his  answer.  Sud- 
denly it  had  coine  to  him  that  it  was  an  easy  question  to 
answer ;  there  could  in  fact  be  but  one  answer  to  it. 

"  Because  He  didn't  have  no  boat!  " 

In  the  deep  silence  following  his  answer  Billy  sat  down. 
Then  a  murmur  of  gasps,  whispers  and  giggles  grew  up, 
which  died  suddenly  to  silence  again,  as  Mr.  Keeler 's  voice 
rang  out. 

"  Correct!    Now,  boys,  we  will  get  on  with  our  lesson." 

During  the  closing  hymn  Billy  managed  to  evade  the 
eyes  of  Ms  elders  long  enough  to  slip  outside.  He  wanted 
to  be  alone  —  alone  to  ponder  over  this  great  and  wonderful 
thing  that  had  come  into  his  life.  It  was  love  —  yes  it 


174  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

certainly  was  love,  strong  worshipful  love  such  as  comes 
to  but  few,  and  to  those  few  only  once.  Such  love  had 
made  Trigger  Finger  Tim  leap  a  fifty-foot  chasm,  swim 
a  swift,  ice-encumbered  river  and  fight  single-handed  a 
band  of  painted  savages  to  free  his  sweetheart  from  their 
murderous  clutches.  Billy  knew  that  he  would  do  as  much 
for  her! 

He  strayed  into  the  beech  grove  sighing,  striving  to 
realize  all  that  had  suddenly  happened  to  him.  Never  in 
all  his  dreams  had  he  imagined  such  a  face  could  belong 
to  mortal  girl.  He  must  see  her  again  —  yes,  he  must  see 
her  soon  again  —  perhaps  speak  with  her.  The  very 
thought  of  it  made  him  dizzy. 

He  wanted  to  tear  up  a  sapling  by  the  roots  and  bust 
something  with  it,  wanted  to  shout,  wanted  to  let  all  the 
world  know  his  joy.  But  he  didn't.  He  compromised  by 
standing  on  his  head  and  walking  the  full  length  of  the 
mossy  grove  on  his  hands. 

That  day  at  dinner  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found 
it  impossible  to  eat.  Food  choked  him.  He  left  the  others 
eating,  with  a  word  or  two  about  having  eaten  heartily  of 
thimble-berries  and  not  caring  for  anything  more. 

Out  in  the  shed  he  found  Moll,  anxious  over  one  of  her 
pups  which  seemed  stupid  and  sick.  Billy  picked  up  the 
pup  and  cuddled  it.  He  found  himself  crying  over  its 
sniffling  whimpers  of  pain.  Love  is  a  grand  thing  if  only 
because  of  the  softening  influence  it  exerts  in  the  savage 
breast  of  man.  Billy  could  not  remember  ever  having 
actually  cried  over  a  sick  puppy  before.  It  was  as  though 
she  stood  there,  white  hands  clasped,  blue  eyes  filled  with 
commiseration,  the  gold  of  her  hair  forming  a  halo  above 
her  bent  head.  He  could  almost  hear  her  voice  saying: 
"  Great,  tender  heart,  cease  thy  tears.  Am  I  not  close 


BILLY  MEETS  A  DIVINITY  175 

beside  thee  to  help  thee  bear  thy  sorrow?  "  That's  what 
Avilee  Roehaw  had  said  to  Trigger  Finger,  in  the  book. 

He  put  the  pup  tenderly  down  beside  its  mother  and 
went  out  behind  the  wood-pile  to  wait  for  Anse.  He 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  he  forgave  him  for  being  such  a 
low-down  tattle-tale  and  the  meanest  brother  that  ever 
lived.  That's  what  she  would  have  him  do,  he  knew.  He 
was  a  changed  being.  If  he  was  to  win  her  love,  he  was 
going  to  be  worthy. 

He  waited  for  an  hour  but  Anson  did  not  come.  How 
was  he  to  know  that  Billy  had  undergone  a  change  of 
heart?  Had  he  not  caught  the  cold  glint  in  Billy's  eyes, 
when  he  had  sneered  at  him  in  the  class?  Previous  expe- 
riences had  taught  him  caution.  He  had  watched  his 
brother  go  out  behind  the  wood-pile  and  had  promptly 
made  tracks  in  the  opposite  direction. 

At  supper  time  Billy's  appetite  had  not  returned.  He 
did  make  something  of  a  pretense  at  eating  but  it  did  not 
deceive  the  eyes  of  his  watchful  mother,  who  for  reasons 
of  her  own  restrained  herself  from  making  any  reference 
to  his  mopishness. 

That  night  as  he  was  undressing  for  bed  Mrs.  Wilson 
came  softly  up  the  stairs,  a  tumbler  half  filled  with  a 
smoky  liquid  in  one  hand,  a  black  strap  in  the  other. 

"  Here,  you  Willium,"  she  commanded,  "  you  drink 
these  here  salts  and  not  a  word  out  o'  you,  or  I'll  tan  you 
good  and  plenty." 

Billy  turned  slowly,  his  fingers  fumbling  with  his  cotton 
braces.  He  looked  at  the  noxious  dose  in  the  tumbler,  then 
at  his  mother's  face.  "  All  right,"  he  said  gently,  "111 
take  'em,  Ma;  give  'em  here." 

His  mother  gasped.  Whatever  was  coming  over  the  boy, 
she  wondered.  Never  before  had  she  been  able  to  get  a 


176  A  SON  OP  COURAGE 

dose  of  medicine  down  him  without  a  struggle.  There 
could  be  only  one  answer.  He  was  sick — sicker  than  he 
let  on. 

She  set  the  glass  on  the  little  table  and  let  the  strap 
slip  to  the  floor.  She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
turned  him  about  so  that  the  light  fell  full  on  his  face. 
She  saw  that  it  was  really  pale  —  yes,  and  wistfuL  Anse 
had  told  her  about  having  seen  Billy  kiss  the  pup  and  cry 
over  it.  Now  a  lump  came  into  her  throat  as  she  looked 
into  the  grey,  unwavering  eyes.  "With  a  sob,  she  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  drew  him  close  to  her.  Billy 
patted  her  shoulder  and  let  her  cry.  He  could  not  guess 
her  reason  for  it,  but  for  that  matter  he  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  was  crying  too,  unless  indeed  it  was  his  great 
and  worshipful  love  still  working  overtime. 

Mrs.  Wilson  subsided  at  last  and  wiped  her  eyes  on  her 
apron.  Then  she  took  Billy's  face  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  him  on  the  freckled  nose.  "  I  know  how  much  you 
miss  your  own  Ma,  Willium,"  she  said,  "  and  I  know  I 
kin  never  take  her  place,  but  I  love  you,  an'  it  worries  me 
awful  to  think  anythin'  might  happen  to  you." 

"  Nuthin's  goin'  to  happen  to  me,  Ma,"  Billy  assured 
her.  "I'm  feelin'  bully.  Don't  you  worry  none." 

Mrs,  Wilson  sighed.  "  Well,  if  you're  sure  you  don't 
need  these  here  salts —  "  she  lifted  the  glass  and  stood 
hesitating,  "  why,  I  don't  s'pose  there's  relly  any  call 
fer  you  to  take  'em.  It  seems  too  bad  to  waste  'em, 
though." 

Billy  turned  toward  Alison's  bed,  from  which,  for  the 
second  time,  he  was  sure  had  come  a  faint  titter.  "  I  was 
thinMny  he  said  in  answer  to  his  mother's  quick  look, 
"  that  it  wouldn't  hurt  Anse  none  to  have  a  dose.  He  does 
grit  his  teeth  somethin*  awful  when  he's  asleep." 


177 

"  You  don't  tell  me,  William!    Why  then,  salts  is  jest 
what  he  needs.    I'll  wake  him  up  an'  give  'em  to  him." 


It  was  long  after  his  mother  had  left  the  loft  and  Anse's 
wails  of  protest  and  wild  promises  of  vengeance  had  given 
place  to  the  regular  breathing  of  peaceful  sleep  that  Billy 
lay  awake,  gazing  wide-eyed  through  the  dark. 

Above  him  bent  a  face  with  tender  blue  eyes  and  red, 
half-smiling  lips  beneath  a  crowning  glory  as  golden  as 
frost-pinched  maple  leaf.  And  she  would  be  at  school  in 
the  morning!  It  was  while  pondering  on  how  he  might 
contrive  to  wear  his  Sunday  clothes  on  the  morrow  that 
Billy  fell  asleep  to  dream  that  he  was  old  man  Scroggie's 
ghost  and  that  he  was  sitting  in  the  centre  of  Lake  Erie 
with  the  big  hardwoods  bush  on  his  knees,  waiting  for  her 
to  come  that  he  might  present  it  all  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  Anson,  in  response  to  an 
angry  call  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairway,  sat  up  in  bed. 
Vaguely  he  realized  that  in  some  dire  way  this  glad  morn- 
ing proclaimed  a  day  of  doom,  but  his  drowsy  senses  were 
still  leaping  vast  chasms  of  dreamland  —  striving  to  slip 
from  the  control  of  saner  reasoning  and  drift  away  with 
a  happy  abandon  of  dire  results  to  follow.  What  boy  has 
not  had  the  same  experience,  even  although  he  knew  that 
a  razor-strop,  wielded  by  a  vigorous  hand,  would  in  all 
probability  accomplish  quickly  what  his  drowsy  will  had 
failed  to  accomplish?  Anson  was  just  dropping  off  into 
the  lulling  arms  of  Morpheus  when  that  extra  sense,  pos- 
sessed by  all  boys  in  a  measure  and  by  certain  boys  in 
particular,  warned  him  back  to  wakefulness  and  a  realiza- 
tion of  his  danger. 

He  was  out  of  bed  and  pulling  his  braces  over  his  shoul- 
ders by  the  time  the  heavy  footsteps  of  his  mother  sounded 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  You,  Anse!  "  came  Mrs.  Wilson's  voice.  "  Have  I 
gotta  limber  you  up  with  the  strap,  after  all?  " 

"  Comin',  Ma,"  responded  Anse,  sleepily. 

"  Well,  you'd  best  come  quick,  then.  You  11  be  gettin' 
enough  hidin's  today  —  if  that  new  teacher's  any  good  — 
without  me  havin'  to  wear  my  arm  out  on  yon  'fore 
breakfast." 

Anson  stood  still,  fumbling  the  buttons.  So  that  was 
it!  School!  He  knew  it  was  some  awful  catastrophe. 

178 


THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS  179 

Where  was  Billy?  He  glanced  across  at  the  other  bed. 
Billy  was  not  in  it.  He  went  slowly  downstairs,  washed 
himself,  and  went  in  to  breakfast.  Billy  was  not  there. 
His  father  was  just  getting  up  from  the  table. 

"  Where's  Bill?  "  Anson  asked  him. 

"  Down  feedin'  his  pets,  most  likely,"  answered  his 
father  as  he  went  out.  A  moment  or  two  later  Billy  came 
in.  The  boys  seated  themselves  in  their  places  and  ate 
their  breakfast  in  silence. 

"  Is  our  dinner  up,  Ma?  "  Billy  asked,  as  he  pushed 
back  his  chair. 

Mrs.  Wilson  nodded.  "  It  is.  Two  pieces  of  bread  an' 
butter  an'  a  doughnut  an'  a  tart  fer  each  of  you.  Is  it 
enough?  " 

' '  I  guess  so, ' '  Billy  replied  indifferently. 

Anson  eyed  him  suspiciously,  then  turned  to  his  mother. 
"  I  wish't  you'd  do  our  dinners  up  separate,  Ma,"  he 
whined. 

"  Why?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  surprise. 

"  Well,  'cause  Bill  hogs  it,  that's  why,"  complained 
Anson.  "  Last  time  we  had  tarts  I  didn't  get  none.  An' 
it's  the  same  with  pie  an'  cake." 

Mrs.  Wilson  gazed  sternly  at  Billy.  "  Willium,  do  you 
take  Anson 's  tarts  and  pie?  "  she  asked  ominously. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Billy,  promptly. 

"  There  now!  "  exulted  Anson,  glancing  triumphantly 
at  his  mother,  who  sat  staring  and  incredulous  at  the 
unabashed  offender. 

Billy  looked  gravely  down  at  his  accuser,  then  appre- 
hensively at  his  judge.  As  no  immediate  sentence  seemed 
forthcoming  he  turned  toward  the  door. 

"Stop!"  Mrs.  Wilson  had  risen  suddenly  from  her 
chair  and  stood  pointing  an  accusing  finger  at  Billy. 


180  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  You'll  ketch  it  fer  this,  an'  don't  yon  ferget  it,"  she 
stormed,  "  an'  if  I  ever  hear  of  yon  gobblin'  np  Anson's 
share  o'  the  Innch  ag'in,  yon  yonng  glutton,  you'll  go  to 
school  fer  a  month  without  any  lunch  a 'tall." 

Billy  turned.  "  I  didn't  say  I  ate  Anson's  pie  an'  cake, 
Ma, ' '  he  said  gently.  ' '  I  didn  't  take  it  'cause  I  wanted  it. ' ' 

"  Then  why  did  you  take  it  a 'tall,  I  want 'a  know?  " 

"  I  took  it  'cause  I  thought  it  was  bad  fer  him.  You 
see,  Ma,  Anse  suffers  turrible  from  indigestion,"  Billy 
explained.  "  'Course  maybe  you  don't  notice  it  same  as 
I  do,  'cause  you  don't  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  him. 
But  Ma,  he  groans  an'  gasps  all  night —  an'  he  has  the 
most  awful  dreams  —  now  don't  you  Anse?  "  he  asked, 
turning  to  his  brother. 

Anson  started  to  whimper.  "  I  do  have  bad  dreams," 
he  confessed  miserably,  "  but  pie  an'  tarts  ain't  to  blame 
fer  it." 

"  Silence,  you!  "  Mrs.  Wilson  reached  for  the  dinner- 
pail  and  proceeded  to  extract  from  it  one  tart,  one  dough- 
nut. "  I  guess  maybe  your  brother's  right,"  she  said 
grimly.  "  If  that's  the  way  you  carry  on  nights  we'll  hold 
you  off  pastry  fer  a  while.  Now  then,  grab  that  pail  and 
off  to  school  with  both  o'  you!  " 

Billy  was  outside  first  and  waiting  for  Anson  at  the  road 
gate  when  he  came  down  the  path,  dejectedly  wiping  his 
eyes  and  vowing  inaudible  threats  at  the  agent  of  his 
new  woe. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Billy  as  he  came  up,  "  maybe  you'll 
begin  to  see  that  it  don't  pay  to  blab  so  danged  muoh." 

"  It  was  dirty  mean  of  you,"  sniffled  Anson.  "  You 
know  how  much  I  like  pie  an*  tarts;  an'  here  I  am  havin' 
to  lug  yottrn  an'  gettin'  none  fer  myself.  Fer  two  cents 
I'd  chuck  this  dinner-pail  in  the  crick." 


THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS  181 

x 

"  An'  fer  two  cents  I'd  punch,  that  crooked  eye  of  yourn 
straight,"  cried  Billy,  his  temper  rising.  "  You'd  best 
close  your  mouth  while  the  closin's  good,  an*  if  anythin' 
happens  to  that  pail  you're  goin'  to  hear  from  me." 

They  passed  on  in  silence  until  the  hardwood  grove  eame 
in  sight.  Here  Billy  paused.  "  You  go  on,  Anse,"  he 
said.  "I'm  goin'  over  to  the  menagerie  fer  a  look  over 
things.  An'  see  here."  He  grabbed  his  brother's  shoulder 
and  swung  him  about.  "I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  something 
an'  if  you  so  much  as  peep  it  to  Ma  I'm  goin'  to  pass  the 
word  to  Bingdo  an  Croaker  that  they're  free  to  do  what 
they  like  to  you;  see?  " 

Anson  shuddered.  "Aw,  who's  goin'  to  peep?"  he 
returned. 

"  All  right  then.  Now  listen.  This  mprnin '  I  tied  my 
Sunday  clothes  up  an'  throwed  'em  out  our  winder.  Then 
I  got  up  an'  sneaked  'em  over  to  the  menagerie.  I'm  goin' 
to  wear  'em  to  school.  Never  you  mind  why,  it's  none  of 
your  business.  When  I  blow  into  school  this  mornin' 
dressed  to  kill  I  don't  want  you  to  look  too  darned  sur- 
prised, that's  all.  Now  if  you'll  keep  your  mouth  shut 
tight  about  that  I  promise  not  to  let  my  witch-coon  an' 
witch-crow  eat  you  while  you  sleep;  an'  I'll  tell  you  what 
else  I'll  do,  I'll  give  you  my  tart  an'  my  doughnut.  Is  it 
a  bargain?  " 

Anson  nodded  eagerly. 

"  All  hunky.  Now  you  move  along,  an'  if  you  happen 
to  meet  Patty  Watland,  er  Maurice,  er  any  other  boys, 
don't  you  let  on  a  word  about  this." 

"  I  won't,"  promised  Anson.    "  Cross  my  heart,  Bill." 

Billy  ducked  into  the  path  through  the  grove  and  Anson 
resumed  his  reluctant  pace  toward  the  Valley  School.  On 
the  bridge  across  Levee  creek  he  came  up  with  Elgin 


182  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Scraff.  Elgin  was  standing  with  his  arms  on  the  bridge 
rail,  looking  dejectedly  down  into  the  water. 

"  Hello,"  Anson  accosted.    "  Goin'  to  school?  " 

Elgin  lifted  his  head  slowly.    "  Yep,  yon?  " 

Anson  nodded  and  set  the  dinner-pail  down  on  the 
bridge. 

"  Where's  BiU?  " 

"He'll  be  along  soon.  Here  he  comes  now;  no  'taint 
neither,  it's  Fatty  Watland.  Wonder  where  he's  been  up 
that  way?  " 

Watland  came  puffing  up,  his  round  face  red  and  per- 
spiring. "  Gee!  "  he  panted,  "  I've  been  all  the  way  to 
the  store.  Had  to  get  some  sulphur  fer  Ma.  She  found 
a  wood-tick  that  old  Sport  scratched  off  him  on  the  floor, 
an'  she  swears  it's  a  bed-bug;  an'  now  she's  goin'  to  burn 
this  sulphur  in  all  the  rooms." 

A  grin  rippled  across  his  face  and  grew  into  a  chuckle. 
"  I  bet  I  sleep  in  the  barn  fer  a  week.  I  sure  hate  the 
smell  of  sulphur." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Elgin,  "  let's  move  on  down  to  the 
schoolhouse. "  Side  by  side  the  three  passed  on  up  the  hill 
and  down  into  the  valley. 

The  schoolhouse  stood  with  a  wide  sloping  green  before 
it  and  a  tangle  of  second  growth  forest  behind  it.  It  was 
not  an  old  building,  but  had  the  appearance  of  senile  old 
age.  Its  coat  of  cheap  terra-cotta  paint  had  cracked  into 
many  wrinkles;  its  windows  looked  dully  out  like  the  lus- 
treless eyes  of  an  old,  old  man.  The  ante-room  roof  had 
been  blown  off  by  a  winter's  gale  and  replaced  inaccu- 
rately, so  that  it  set  awry,  jaunty  and  defiant,  challenging 
the  world.  Its  door  hung  on  one  hinge,  leaning  sleepily 
against  a  knife-scarred  wall.  A  rail  fence  ran  about  the 
yard  which  was  filled  to  choking  with  a  rank  growth  of 


THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS  183 

smart-weed.  In  one  corner  of  the  yard  was  a  well  with  a 
faded  blue  pump  fielding  the  faded  red  arm  of  a  handle 
toward  the  skies,  as  though  evoking  high  heaven  to  bear 
witness  that  it  was  never  intended  to  lead  such  a  lonely 
and  useless  existence. 

The  boys  approached  the  building  slowly  and  as  they 
neared  its  sombre  portals  silence  fell  upon  them.  They 
opened  the  creaking  gate  and  entered  the  building  much 
after  the  manner  of  heroes  who  must  stand  blindfolded 
against  a  wall  and  wait  the  word  "  Fire!  "  They  had  to 
go  through  with  it,  that  was  all. 

The  building  held  all  the  unmistakable  odors  of  a  school 
room.  The  smell  of  chalk  dust,  mouldy  bread  crusts,  mice, 
dirty  slates  and  musty  books  rose  up  to  smite  the  arrivals. 
Four  rows  of  pine  seats,  blackened  with  ink-daubs  and 
deeply  scarred  by  pocket-knives,  ran  the  entire  length  of 
the  building.  A  big  box  stove  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  its  wavering  pipe  supported  by  wires  from  the 
ceiling. 

Walter  Watland  looked  about  for  a  good  place  in  which 
to  conceal  his  package  of  sulphur  and  decided  that  in  the 
empty  stove  he  had  discovered  the  place  of  all  places.  So, 
while  Anson  and  Elgin  were  investigating  the  teacher's 
desk  and  picking  out  their  seats,  he  proceeded  to  hide  his 
sulphur  in  the  stove's  black  depths.  Then  he  went  out- 
side with  his  companions  to  await  the  coming  of  the  new 
teacher. 

Scarcely  had  the  three  seated  themselves  on  the  top  rail 
of  the  yard  fence  than  from  all  directions  other  pupils  of 
the  Settlement  began  to  arrive.  Sand  Sharkers,  sullen  and 
defiant,  holding  themselves  apart,  came  in  one  big  group. 

Jim  Scroggie  entered  the  school  yard  with  his  sister  by 
his  side.  He  paused  a  moment  to  let  his  eyes  stray  to  the 


184  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

faces  of  the  three  hopefuls  on  the  fence,  conjecturing  with 
a  boy's  intuition  that  in  this  trio  he  saw  some  of  the  ring- 
leaders of  the  school.  Jim  wore  a  smart  tweed  coat  and 
knickerbockers,  and  a  shirt  of  grey  flannel  with  a  soft 
silk  tie.  Hi»  sister,  Lou,  was  dressed  daintily  in  white, 
with  soft  blue  collar  that  matched  the  glorious  depths  of 
her  eyes.  She  smiled  now,  and  the  three  on  the  fence 
immediately  underwent  a  change  of  heart.  Elgin  Seraff 
was  the  first  to  slide  down  and  approach  the  new  boy  in 
a  spirit  of  fellowship. 

"  Hello,"  he  said  genially.  "  I've  got  a  erackin'  good 
seat.  You  kin  set  with  me  if  you  like." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "  Promised  Billy  Wilson  I'd  sit 
with  him,"  he  said.  "  Kin  you  tell  me  where  he's  goin' 
to  sit?" 

Elgin  was  about  to  answer  when  he  caught  a  gasp  from 
the  watchers  on  the  road.  "  Teacher's  comin'!  "  went 
forth  the  cry. 

Down  the  hill  came  a  thin,  rangy  bay  horse,  astride 
which,  an  open  book  in  his  hand,  sat  Mr.  G.  G.  Johnston. 
As  he  drew  up  in  front  of  the  gate  he  closed  the  book  and 
turned  his  frowning  eyes  on  the  building.  Utterly  ignor- 
ing the  awed,  watching  faces  he  shook  his  head  grimly 
and,  looking  to  neither  right  nor  left,  rode  in  through 
the  open  gate.  Not  until  he  had  unbridled  his  horse 
and  turned  him  loose  to  seek  a  breakfast  as  bert  he  knew 
how,  while  he  investigated  the  school's  interior,  did  the 
boys  and  girls  outside  give  way  to  their  feelings.  /  •. 

Then  Manriee  Keeler  whistled.  "Whew!  Ain't  he  the 
old  human  icicle?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  bet!  "  came  the  spontaneous  answer. 

"Gosh,"  cried  Elgin  Scraff,  "  there*  goes  the  bell! 
Come  on  everybody;  let's  get  our  medicine." 


THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS  185 

Just  as  the  boys  and  girls  were  settling  down  in  their 
seals  and  Jim  Scroggie  was  glancing  anxiously  doorward 
Billy  strode  in.  He  was  resplendent  in  his  Sunday  best 
and  wore  a  wild  thorn  blossom  in  his  button  hole.  He 
glanced  quickly  about  the  room  and  caught  the  glint  and 
sunlight  for  which  he  hungered  —  a  smile  from  the  lips 
of  Lou  Scroggie.  Then  he  seized  Jack  LaRose  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck,  jerked  him  from  the  seat  near  the  door 
and  motioned  Jim  Scroggie  over.  "  We'll  set  here,"  he 
whispered.  "  It's  close  to  the  outside  in  case  we  have  to 
make  a  quick  get-away." 

The  new  teacher  paid  no  attention  to  the  little  scrim- 
mage between  LaRose  and  Billy.  He  stood  on  the  plat- 
form, tall,  spare,  hard-featured  and  stern,  and  let  his 
black  eyes  bore  into  the  souls  of  the  pupils,  one  after  the 
other.  Not  until  the  silence  of  suspense  was  almost  un- 
bearable did  he  speak;  then  clearing  his  throat  he  gave 
forth  in  stern  tones  the  following  edict: 

"  Boys  and  girls,  I  am  your  teacher.  I  shall  expect  you 
to  obey  me  implicitly.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  punish  you. 
I  am  here  to  teach  you;  you  are  here  to  learn  and  profit 
from  my  teaching.  I  have  heard  bad  reports  of  most  of 
you,  but  for  the  present  I  shall  refrain  from  mentioning 
any  names.  When  in  the  school-room  you  will  be  allowed 
to  address  me  as  '  Sir.'  Outside  the  school-room  you  will 
not  address  me  in  any  manner  whatsoever." 

He  paused  to  survey  the  rows  of  uplifted  faces  and  let 
his  words  sink  home-.  Then  lifting  a  long  hickory  pointer 
from  his  desk,  and  holding  it  much  as  a  conjuror  might 
hold  his  wand,  he  gripped  the  edge  of  the  desk  with  one 
bony  hand  and  leaning  forward,  said: 

"  Boys  and  girls,  from  what  has  been  told  me  I  surmise 
that  my  predecessor  has  spoiled  you.  I  do  not  censure  him; 


186  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

undoubtedly  he  worked  according  to  his  lights.  I  have 
been  twenty  years  a  teacher.  I  am  your  superior  in 
strength,  wisdom  and  intellect ;  and  this  I  want  you  always 
to  keep  in  mind.  I  shall  tolerate  neither  familiarity  ,nor 
disobedience.  You  will  do  well  to  obey  me  without  ques- 
tion and  do,  worthily,  the  tasks  I  set  for  you.  I  believe  in 
administering  punishment  to  wrong-doers,  severe  punish- 
ment. It  is  not  my  purpose  to  deceive  either  you  or  the 
ratepayers  of  this  school;  therefore,  I  will  admit  that  I 
like  neither  this  district  nor  its  people.  That,  however, 
will  not  prevent  me  from  fulfilling  my  duty  to  the  best  of 
my  ability." 

He  ceased  speaking  and  drew  himself  up  slowly,  pursing 
his  stern  lips.  "  That  is  all  I  have  to  say  for  the  time 
being,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  endeavor  to  air  this  building, 
after  which  we  will  form  classes.  Will  the  fat  boy  with 
the  rumpled  hair  and  dirty  neck,  the  one  who  is  whispering 
to  the  boy  behind  him,  be  good  enough  to  step  forward?  " 

All  eyes  switched  from  the  teacher  to  Fatty  Watland. 
Fatty,  his  face  very  red,  rose  slowly  and  stood  before  the 
frowning  Mr.  Johnston. 

"  What  is  your  name,  boy?  "  asked  the  teacher. 

"  Walter  Watland." 

"  Walter  Watland  —  what  ?  " 

"  That's  all.    Jest  Walter  Watland." 

Mr.  Johnston  frowned  darkly.  "  Walter  Watland — 
whatf  "  he  repeated. 

"  Sir/'  prompted  a  voice  from  the  back  seat. 

"  Walter  Watland,  sir/'  panted  Fatty,  glimpsing  the 
light  in  the  nick  of  time. 

"  Very  well,  Walter,  you  may  go  home  and  get  a  pail 
of  water.  My  experience  with  school  wells,"  glancing  out 
of  the  window  to  the  blue  pump,  "  has  been  that  during 


THE  DREAD  DAY  DAWNS  187 

the  holidays  they  become  a  veritable  death  trap  for  frogs, 
mice  and  other  vermin. ' ' 

Walter  moved  quickly  to  execute  the  order.  Mr.  Johns- 
ton addressed  the  rest  of  the  pupils.  "  School  is  now  dis- 
missed until  we  raise  the  windows  and  air  the  room." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  METTLE   OF  THE  BREED 

Immediately  thirty  boys  and  girls  leaped  to  their  feet 
and  windows  went  up  with  a  bang. 

"  I  think,"  Mr.  Johnson's  voice  was  heard  above  the  din, 
"  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  start  a  fire  in  that  big  stove. 
This  place  is  positively  vault  like  with  dampness." 

A  number  of  the  boys  ran  out  to  gather  kindling  and 
wood  and  soon  a  fire  was  crackling  in  the  stove. 

"  Pupils  will  now  take  their  seats,"  commanded  the 
teacher,  tinkling  the  bell  on  his  desk.  There  was  a  hurried 
scramble  as  each  boy  and  girl  found  his  and  her  place. 

' '  We  will  now  have  —  ' '  resumed  the  teacher,  then 
paused  to  glare  angrily  at  the  stove.  From  every  crack  in 
its  rusty  sides  was  pouring  forth  a  whitish-yellow  smoke 
that  gripped  the  throat  and  smelled  like  a  breath  from  the 
very  pit  of  darkness.  Mr.  Johnston  attempted  to  proceed 
and  failed  dismally.  He  was  choking,  as  was  every  boy 
and  girl  in  the  room. 

It  was  Billy  Wilson  who  acted  promptly.  Running  to 
the  stove  he  opened  the  door  and  lifted  out  the  blazing 
wood  and,  at  the  risk  of  scorching  himself  badly,  ran  with 
it  from  the  room. 

It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  before  Mr.  Johnston  sum- 
moned the  boys  and  girls  from  the  open  windows  to  their 
seats.  The  room  still  smelled  strongly  of  sulphur,  but  one 
might  still  breathe  and  live. 

In  the  interval  of  waiting  for  the  air  to  clear  the  new 
teacher's  face  had  turned  a  ghastly  white.  His  black  eyes 

188 


V 

THE  METTLE  OF  THE  BREED      189 

blazed;  his  thin  lips  were  drawn  back  from  his  strong, 
irregular  teeth.  Gazing  upon  him,  the  boys  and  girls 
quaked  in  apprehension.  Their  fears  were  well  founded. 
Never  before  in  all  his  long  career  in  administering  knowl- 
edge to  grubby  and  inferior  minds  had  Mr.  G.  G.  Johnston 
been  subject  to  such  deadly  insult  as  had  been  offered  him 
here.  It  was  fully  a  minute  before  he  could  command  his 
voice  sufficiently  to  speak  and  when  he  did  the  words 
trickled  through  his  stiff  lips  thinly. 

"  Boys  and  girls,"  he  said  at  length,  "  one  or  more  of 
you  have  been  guilty  of  the  most  unpardonable  misde- 
meanor that  has  ever  come  under  my  observation  as  a 
teacher.  I  realize  that  the  dirty  trick  has  been  deliberately 
planned,  the  motive  being  perhaps  to  test  me.  You  may 
believe  me  when  I  inform  you  that  the  one  who  placed  that 
sulphur  in  the  stove  will  have  plenty  of  reason  to  regret 
having  done  it.  I  intend  to  flog  him  —  or  her  —  until  he  — 
or  she  —  cannot  stand.  I  shall  now  ask  the  one  who  is 
guilty  of  the  offense  to  stand  up." 

Nobody  stood.  Anson  was  on  the  point  of  jumping  to 
his  feet  and  telling  who  had  brought  the  sulphur  into  the 
room  but,  on  second  thought,  sat  still.  The  teacher  had 
asked  who  had  put  it  in  the  stove.  Certainly  it  had  not 
been  Fatty  Watland,  because  he  had  gone  on  an  errand 
for  the  teacher  long  before  the  fire  was  started. 

Mr.  Johnston  smiled  darkly  and  nodded.  ' '  As  I  thought. 
The  one  who  did  it  is  too  much  of  a  coward  to  confess  it," 
he  grated,  his  voice  shaking.  ' '  Well,  there  remains  but 
one  thing  to  do.  If  the  guilty  party  is  to  be  punished,  I 
must  punish  you  one  and  att." 

There  was  the  sound  of  the  quick  intaking  of  breath, 
and  an  audible  long-drawn  "  Oh!  "  from  the  girls. 

"  I  must  punish  each  and  every  one  of  you,"  Mr.  John- 


190  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

ston  reiterated,  picking  up  the  pointer.  "  I  shall  begin 
on  the  boy  who  is  smiling  so  defiantly  in  the  back  seat,  if 
he  will  be  good  enough  to  step  up  here." 

"  I  guess  that's  me,"  said  Billy,  jumping  to  his  feet  and 
starting  for  the  platform. 

"  That's  a  nice  smile  you  wear,"  said  Mr.  Johnston 
scathingly  as  he  gazed  down  at  Billy,  his  bony  fingers  caress- 
ing the  long,  supple  pointer. 

"  Glad  you  like  it,"  said  Billy. 

"Eh?  What's  that?  "  Mr.  Johnston  fairly  recoiled  in 
surprise  and  indignation  at  the  affront  to  his  dignity. 
"  Silence!  boys  and  girls,"  he  shouted,  as  a  titter  ran 
through  the  schoolroom. 

"  Now  young  man,"  he  said  grimly,  grasping  one  of 
Billy's  hands  and  pulling  it  forward  and  out,  "I'm  going 
to  drive  that  happy  smile  from  your  face." 

"  You're  a'goin'  to  find  that  some  job,"  said  Billy 
quietly. 

"  Well,  well  see,  young  Mr.  Impudence."  The  long 
pointer  rose  and  fell.  Billy  caught  the  stroke  full  on  his 
palm.  His  face  whitened  with  pain,  but  the  smile  did  not 
leave  his  lips. 

"  Your  other  hand,"  commanded  Mr.  Johnston. 

He  bent  forward  to  grasp  the  hand  which  Billy  raised 
slowly,  thereby  dodging  a  stone  ink-bottle  hurled  by 
Maurice  Keeler.  At  it  was  the  bottle  struck  the  blackboard 
and  broke,  deluging  the  teacher's  face  with  a  sable  spray. 

Billy  turned  quickly.  "  No  more  of  that,"  he  said. 
"  This  is  my  funeral  —  and  the  teacher's.  Everybody  else 
keep  out  of  it." 

He  squared  his  shoulders  and  held  out  his  hand.  The 
pointer  came  down  with  all  the  strength  that  the  man  dared 
put  behind  it.  Johnston  peered  closely  into  the  boy's  face. 


THE  METTLE  OF  THE  BEEED      191 

It  was  white  and  quivering  but  it  still  wore  a  smile. 

' '  Take  your  seat, ' '  commanded  the  teacher.  ' '  Next  boy 
forward!  "  One  by  one  the  boys  walked  up  to  receive 
their  punishment.  All  took  it  bravely. 

When,  at  last,  the  boys  had  all  been  attended  to,  Mr. 
Johnston  paused  for  rest.  "  I  shall  now  begin  on  the 
girls,"  he  said,  "  but  before  administering  punishment 
I  am  going  to  give  the  guilty  boy,  or  girl,  one  more  chance 
to  confess.  Will  the  one  who  put  the  sulphur  in  the  stove 
stand  up?  " 

As  before,  nobody  moved. 

Mr.  Johnston  smiled.  "  Very  well.  The  girl  with  the 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  the  one  dressed  in  white  and 
blue,  five  seats  down,  will  come  forward  for  punishment." 

Billy  felt  his  blood  run  cold.  He  could  not  believe  his 
ears.  The  girl  dressed  in  white  and  blue !  Why,  that  was 
she  —  his  angel  —  his  light  —  his  everything.  And  she  was 
crying  now.  She  was  standing  up,  moving  forward. 

Like  a  flash  Billy  was  on  his  feet.  ' '  Stop !  "  he  cried, 
his  voice  ringing  out  like  a  challenge.  "  You  don't  whip 
her  if  I  know  it." 

For  the  second  time  that  morning  Mr.  Johnston  received 
a  violent  shock  to  his  dignity.  Such  rank  insubordination 
he  had  never  experienced  before.  The  black  eyes  turned 
on  Billy  fairly  darting  sparks.  "  Take  your  seat,  you 
impudent  boy!  "  he  thundered,  "I  see  I  have  been  too 
lenient  with  you.  When  I  am  through  with  the  girls  I 
shall  flog  you  until  you  cry  for  mercy,  and  with  you  the 
boy  who  threw  that  bottle." 

Billy  was  running  up  the  aisle. 

"  Please  sir,  don't  whip  her,"  he  said,  pleadingly.  "  I'll 
own  up.  It  was  me  that  put  the  sulphur  in  the  stove. ' ' 

"  You?  "  gasped  Mr.  Johnston.    "  You  coward!  to  let 


192  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

your  companions  be  punished  for  your  despicable  act. 
Oh,"  he  exulted,  removing  his  coat  and  rolling  up  his 
sleeves,  "  won't  I  make  you  pay  for  playing  the  sneak?  " 

Billy  was  giving  no  attention  to  the  teacker.  He  was 
edging  towards  Lou  Scroggie,  who  stood  lookiag  at  him 
from  dumb,  pleading  eyes. 

"  Go  outside,"  he  whispered.  "  Please  do;  I  kin  stand 
anythin',  but  I  don't  want  you  to  see  it." 

She  turned  slowly  away,  then  came  back  and  put  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders.  She  did  not  speak  but  the  look 
she  gave  him  was  enough.  His  heart  laughed.  He  turned 
toward  the  teacher  with  so  glad  a  light  in  his  grey  eyes 
that  the  schooled  moulder  of  young  souls  gazed  back  at 
him  in  bewilderment. 

Was  this  the  brand  of  boy  this  Shagland  Settlement 
bred,  he  wondered.  If  so,  God  help  him  and  his  precepts. 

From  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  wished  that  he  had  never 
seen  the  place,  never  encountered  the  spirit  of  its  woods- 
born.  He  knew  his  capabilities  and  for  once  in  his  life, 
he  confessed  to  himself,  he  had  over-estimated  them.  He 
wanted  to  give  this  boy  now  standing  so  fearlessly  before 
him  a  whipping  such  as  he  would  remember  to  his  dying 
day,  but  to  save  his  life  he  couldn't  enter  into  the  task 
with  his  old-time  zest  —  not  with  those  clear  eyes  looking 
so  contemptuously  into  his  very  soul. 

The  room  had  grown  still  —  a  graveyard  hush,  broken 
only  by  a  sob  from  the  tenderest-hearted  of  the  girls,  who 
knew  that  Billy  had  lied  to  save  one  of  their  sex. 

Johnston  had  turned  to  his  desk  and  secured  a  shorter, 
stronger  pointer.  The  veins  between  his  shaggy  eyebrows 
stood  out  clearly  defined  as  he  motioned  Billy  up  on  the 
platform. 

It  was  just  at  this  juncture  that  Fatty  Watland  arrived, 


THE  METTLE  OF  THE  BREED      193 

smiling  and  panting,  with  the  pail,  borrowed  from  his 
mother,  full  of  drinking  water.  It  took  him  but  a  moment 
to  learn  from,  one  of  the  boys  what  had  transpired.  It 
took  him  still  less  time  to  reach  the  platform.  There,  with 
much  humiliation  of  spirit  and  many  "sirs,"  he  explained 
to  the  greatly  surprised,  and  it  must  be  confessed,  secretly 
relieved  Mr.  Johnston,  the  true  state  of  affairs. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  Fatty  regretted 
the  part  he  had  so  unwittingly  played  in  the  day's  disaster. 
He  was  sufficiently  apologetic  and  low  spirited  to  satisfy 
even  the  new  teacher,  who  was  content  to  let  him  off  with 
a  lecture. 

Mr.  Johnston  then  briefly  stated  to  his  pupils  that  a 
mistake  had  been  made.  He  did  not  say  that  he  was  sorry. 
That  would  have  been  an  untruth.  He  did  say  that  Billy 
deserved  another  whipping  for  lying,  but  under  the  cir- 
cumstances he  would  excuse  him,  as  he  had  already  received 
unmerited  punishment. 

At  the  close  of  his  first  day  in  the  Valley  School  Mr. 
Johnston  was  forced  to  confess  that  he  had  considerable 
work  before  him.  Had  he  been  able  to  read  the  future  and 
learn  just  what  he  would  be  obliged  to  undergo  -as  teacher 
of  that  school,  without  doubt  he  would  have  climbed  on 
the  baek  of  his  thin  horse  and  ridden  straight  away  from 
Scotia  Settlement,  never  to  return.  But  he  could  not  read 
what  the  future  held,  consequently  he  rode  slowly  towards 
Fairfield  that  first  evening  with  the  righteous  feeling  of 
one  who  had  performed  a  difficult  task  well  and  satisfac- 
torily—  at  least  to  himself. 

Baek  in  the  schoolyard  a  real  old  fashioned  indignation 
meeting  was  being  held  by  thirty  lusty  boys  and  girls. 
That  any  man,  teacher  or  no  teacher,  should  come  into 
their  beloved  Settlement  and  announce  that  he  had  no  use 


194  A  SON  OP  COURAGE 

for  it  or  its  people  and  go  on  his  way  unscathed  was  beyond 
all  understanding.  Something  would  have  to  be  done  about 
it;  but  what?  It  was  Billy  who  climbed  up  on  the  school 
fence,  called  order  and  offered  the  one  sure  solution  to  the 
problem. 

"  I  guess  we  don't  want 'a  keep  him,  do  we?  "  he  asked 
of  his  companions. 

"  No.    No!  "  came  in  chorus. 

' '  All  right ;  that 's  settled.  But  listen,  now,  every  one  of 
you.  He's  gotta  go  of  his  own  accord.  We're  not  goin' 
to  be  disobedient  in  any  way.  Fer  a  time  we'll  eat  out 'a 
his  hand.  Now  wait  —  "  as  a  groan  of  protest  went  up  — 
"  let  me  finish  afore  you  get  the  high-jumps,  you  fellers. 
At  the  end  of  two  er  three  weeks  somethin'  is  goin'  to 
happen  to  Mr.  Johnston.  I'm  not  goin'  to  say  what  that 
somethin'  is  right  now,  but  you'll  all  know  soon  enough. 
And  if  after  it  happens  he's  got  nerve  enough  to  come  back 
here  I  miss  my  guess,  that's  all." 

"  Hurrah!  "  shouted  the  delighted  boys.  "  We  knowed 
you'd  find  a  way  to  fix  him,  Billy." 

Billy  climbed  down  from  the  fence  and  his  supporters 
gathered  about  him,  eager  to  secure  the  details  of  his  plan 
but  he  shook  his  head.  "  You  kin  jest  leave  it  all  to  me, 
an'  one  er  two  others  I'm  goin'  to  pick  to  help  me,"  he 
said.  "  It's  soon  enough  fer  you  to  know  how  we  do  it 
when  it's  done.  Now,  everybody  go  home." 

Apparently  quite  by  accident  he  found  himself  standing 
beside  Lou  Scroggie  and  the  two  fell  into  step  together. 
They  were  the  last  to  take  the  winding  path  toward  the 
main  road.  An  embarrassed  silence  fell  between  them,  a 
silence  which  remained  unbroken  until  they  reached  the 
creek  bridge.  Then  the  girl  said  shyly:  "  Do  you  mind 
if  I  call  you  Billy?  " 


THE  METTLE  OF  THE  BREED      195 

Billy  had  to  stifle  his  emotion  and  swallow  twice  before 
he  answered:  "  That's  what  I'd  like  you  to  call  me.  I'll 
bet  you  can 't  say  it,  though. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  can  so!  " 

"  Well,  let's  hear  you,  then." 

He  bent  his  head  and  held  his  breath,  oblivious  to  every- 
thing save  the  ecstasy  of  that  moment. 

"  Billy,"  she  half- whispered,  then  hiding  her  flushed 
face  in  her  hands  she  turned  and  ran  from  him. 

Billy  did  not  follow.  Something,  perhaps  the  primitive 
man  in  him,  cautioned  the  unwisdom  of  so  doing.  Prom 
the  dim,  far-back  ages  woman  has  run  and  man  has  pur- 
sued. But  a  few  wise  men  have  waited. 

So  Billy  watched  her  passing  like  a  ray  of  soft  light 
across  the  valley  and  around  the  golden  curve  of  the  road. 
Then  with  his  arms  on  the  bridge-rail,  his  eyes  gazing  deep 
into  the  amber  depths  of  the  water,  he  lived  anew  every 
moment  of  her  nearness,  until  the  hoarse,  joyful  cry  of  a 
crow  broke  in  on  his  reverie.  Croaker,  having  grown 
lonely,  had  come  down  to  meet  him. 

So  with  the  bird  perched  on  his  shoulders,  muttering  a 
strange  jargon  of  endearments  and  throaty  chuckles  in  his 
ear,  Billy  turned  up  the  path,  thinking  still  of  a  pair  of 
blue  eyes  and  a  voice  that  had  called  Him  "  Billy.'* 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CROAKER  BRINGS  A  GIFT 

It  was  Sunday.  Anson,  with  eyes  close-shut  and  suds 
dripping  from  his  freckled  nose,  was  having  his  weekly 
ear  and  neek  cleansing,  his  mother's  strong  hands  applying 
the  coarse  wash-eloth.  Billy  stood  by,  anticipating  his 
turn,  his  eyes  straying  occasionally  to  the  long  "  muzzle- 
loader  "  hanging  on  the  deer-prong  rack.  Tomorrow  the 
duck-season  opened  and  he  was  wondering  how  he  was 
going  to  contrive  to  sneak  the  old  gun  down  and  give  it  a 
thorough  cleaning.  Suddenly  he  became  aware  that  opera- 
tions in  the  vicinity  of  the  wash-basin  had  become  sus- 
pended. He  glanced  across  to  find  his  mother's  gaze  fixed 
sternly  upon  him.  Anson  was  looking  mightily  pleased. 

' '  I  want  'a  know  how  you  got  them  ink  blots  on  your  good 
clothes.  Have  you  been  a'wearin'  'em  to  school?  "  asked 
Mrs.  "Wilson. 

So  that  was  it?  Anson  had  "  peached  "!  Billy  swal- 
lowed hard.  His  mind  reviewed  the  days  of  the  past  two 
weeks.  Again  he  saw  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  misty  with  love 
and  feeling ;  heard  a  voice  whose  cadence  was  sweeter  than 
honey  saying,  "My!  Billy,  you  are  so  different  from  any 
other  boy  I've  ever  met;  and  you  always  wear  such  nice 
clothes,  too."  Oh  those  wonderful,  joy-filled  days  I  What 
boy  would  not  have  risked  far  more  than  he  had  risked  to 
win  such  commendation  from  the  girl  of  all  girls. 

'  Well?  "  His  mother's  voice  dispelled  the  vision.  "  Are 
you  goin'  to  answer  me,  Willium?  " 

Billy  squared  his  shoulders.    Yes,  he  would  do  as  she 

196 


CROAKER  BRINGS  A  GIFT  197 

WGuld  wish.  He  would  confess.  But  the  best  of  intentions 
go  oft  awry  and  Billy's  present  ones  were  suddenly  side- 
tracked by  a  giggle  from  Anson,  a  giggle  freighted  with 
malice,  triumph  and  devilish  joy  at  his  predicament. 

Now,  a  boy  may  make  up  his  mind  to  die  a  hero,  but  no 
boy  cares  to  be  ushered  out  by  gibes  and  "  I-told-you-so's." 
Billy  promptly  adopted  new  tactics.  "  This  ain't  my  suit, 
Ma,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Wilson  started  so  at  his  words  that  she  rammed 
the  cake  of  soap  into  Anson  'e  mouth. 

"  Not  yournt  Then  whose  is  it?  "  she  cried  in  amaze- 
ment 

"  It's  Anse's.  "We  must  have  got  'cm  mixed  when  we 
was  dressinV 

"  Willium,  are  you  lyin'  to  me?  If  you  are  it's  goin' 
to  be  the  costliest  lie  you  ever  told." 

Billy  returned  her  angry  gaze  without  a  flicker  of  an 
eyelid.  The  reproach  in  his  grey  eyes  was  enough  to  make 
any  mother  ashamed  of  having  doubted,  and,  as  a  matter 
of  natural  consequence,  anger  her  the  more.  "  How  do 
you  know  that's  Alison's  suit?  "  she  shot  at  Billy,  between 
rubs.  "  How  do  you  know  it,  you  young  imp,  you?  " 

Billy  moved  forward,  halting  a  safe  distance  from  his 
mother.  "  You  11  remember,  Ma,  that  Anse's  pants  has 
two  hip  pockets,  an  mine  only  one." 

"  Yes,  that's  so." 

"An'  his  coat  has  two  inside  pockets,  an'  mine  only 
one." 

"  I  remember  that,  too.    Well?  " 

Billy  removed  the  coat  he  was  wearing  and  passed  it 
over  to  his  mother.  She  turned  it  inside  out,  and  inspected 
it  closely. 

"  That's  Anson 's  coat  all  right,"  she  affirmed.    "  Now 


198  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

twist  about  so's  I  kin  see  them  hip  pockets  in  the  pants." 

Billy  did  so.  Then,  there  being  nothing  more  left  to  do, 
he  stepped  back  to  watch  the  fireworks. 

Stunned  into  inaction  by  the  ease  and  suddenness  with 
which  Billy  had  turned  the  tables  against  him  Anson  had 
only  time  to  take  one  longing  glance  toward  the  door. 
His  mother  had  lifted  the  razor-strop  from  its  nail  and  as 
he  made  a  frenzied  leap  toward  safety  her  strong  hand 
gripped  him  by  the  wet  hair.  "  Swish  "  fell  the  strop 
and  Anson 's  wail  of  woe  rent  the  Sabbath  air.  In  vain  he 
squirmed,  cried,  protested  his  innocence. 

Having  gotten  nicely  warmed  up  to  her  work  Mrs.  Wil- 
son turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  wails.  "  You  would  try  to 
put  off  your  dirty  tricks  on  your  brother,  would  you?  " 
Swish-swish.  "  I'll  teach  you  to  wear  your  good  clothes 
to  school.  I'll  teach  you  to  lie  to  me,  you  bad,  deceitful, 
ungrateful  boy,  you! 

"  Now,"  she  panted,  having  reached  the  limit  of  her 
strength,  "  you  go  upstairs  with  Willium  and  change 
clothes.  Not  another  word,  er  I'll  start  in  on  you  all  over 
ag'in.  Off  you  go,  both  o' you.  And  Willium, "  she  called 
after  them,  "  when  you  get  into  your  own  suit,  don't 
you  ferget  to  come  here  fer  your  scrubbin'." 

When  Billy  reached  the  loft,  Anson  was  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  smashing  with  clenched  fists  at  the 
empty  air.  Billy  sat  down  on  his  bed  and  grinned.  ' '  You 
will  run  straight  into  trouble,  in  spite  of  all  I  say,  Anse," 
he  said  gently.  "  It's  all  your  own  fault;  you  will  be  a 
tattle-tale." 

Anson  turned  on  him.  "  You  mean  sneak!  "  he  gasped, 
"  you've  been  wearin'  my  Sunday  clothes  'stead  of  your 
own,  an'  I  didn't  know  it." 

Billy  nodded.    "You  see,  Anse,  I  knowed  that  sooner 


CROAKER  BRINGS  A  GIFT  199 

or  later  you  was  bound  to  tell  Ma,  so  I  played  safe,  that's 
all." 

Anson,  still  sniffling,  finished  his  undressing.  Billy 
nursed  his  knee  in  his  hands  and  watched  him.  ' '  'Course, ' ' 
he  remarked,  at  length,  "  you'll  be  for  tellin'  Ma  soon's 
she  calms  down  a  bit  an'  is  ready  to  listen,  but  Anse  I 
wouldn't  do  it  if  I  was  you." 

"  Well,  you  kin  bet  I  jest  will  do  it,"  promised  Anson. 

Billy  stood  up.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  willin'  to  do, 
Anse,"  he  suggested.  "  If  you'll  keep  mum  about  this 
thing,  I'll  let  you  come  duck-shootin'  with  me  an'  Maurice 
tomorrow." 

Anson  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  want 'a  go  duck-ahoot- 
in',"  he  said.  "  I  know  jest  what  you  fellers  'ud  do; 
you'd  get  me  in  all  the  bog-holes  an'  make  me  carry  your 
ducks.  No  sir,  I'm  goin'  to  tell  Ma." 

Billy  tried  further  inducements.  "  I'll  give  you  my  new 
red  tie  an'  celluloid  collar,"  he  offered. 

"No!  " 

"  Then,"  said  Billy  sorrowfully,  turning  toward  the 
door,  "  I  guess  there's  only  one  thing  fer  me  to  do." 

"  An'  what's  that?  "  asked  Anse,  apprehensively. 

"  Go  an'  tell  Croaker  an'  Ringdo  the  whole  business,  an* 
let  that  crow  an'  swamp-coon  'tend  to  you." 

"  Hold   on,    Bill,    wait   a   minute,"   Anson   quavered. 
"  I've  changed  my  mind,  I'll  take  the  tie  an'  collar  an' 
call  it  square." 

Billy  turned  and  came  back  slowly  to  where  he  sat. 
"  Anse,"  he  said.  "  I  ain't  wantin'  to  see  you  witch- 
chased,  so  I'll  jest  give  you  the  tie  an'  collar  an'  say  not 
a  word  to  Croaker  er  Ringdo ;  an'  if  you'll  tell  me  some- 
thin'  I  want 'a  know  I'll  let  you  sleep  with  my  rabbit-foot 
charm  underneath  your  piller." 


200  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Anson  almost  sobbed  his  relief.  "  1 11  do  it, "  he  agreed. 
"  What  is  it  you  want 'a  know,  Bill?  " 

"  I  want 'a  know  all  you  know  about  them  men  that  are 
workin'  Hinter 's  borin'  outfit.  Why  ain't  they  ever  seen 
outside  that  tall  fence  Scroggie's  built  'round  the  derrick, 
an'  why  did  he  build  that  fence,  anyways?  * 

Anson  looked  troubled.  "  Supposin'  I  don't  know —  " 
he  began,  but  Billy  shook  MB  head. 

"  I  kappen  to  know  you  do  know.  'Course  you  needn't 
tell,  if  you  don't  want  to,"  he  said.  "  You  kin  keep  what 
you  know  to  yourself  an'  take  your  chances  with  witches. 
I  was  jest  givin'  you  a  last  chance,  that's  all." 

He  turned  once  more  to  the  door  but  Anson  jumped  up 
and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  Bill,"  he  gasped.  "  I 
don't  know  why  Hinter  built  that  fence,  cross  my  heart,  I 
don't  But  111  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  men  who 're 
runnin'  the  rig.  I  been  workin'  fer  the  tool-dresser  after 
school,  fer  a  quarter  a  night.  I've  heard  quite  a  lot  o' 
talk  among  them  fellers.  Blamed  if  I  could  make  head  er 
tail  of  most  of  it  but  they  mentioned  a  feller  by  the  name 
of  Jacobs  an'  they  seem  plumb  scared  to  death  of  him. 
Funny,  too,  'cause  he's  never  been  'round  there  a 'tall. 
Nobody  ever  comes  there  but  Hinter." 

"  How  do  you  mean  they  seem  scared  of  Jacobs!  " 

"  I  kin  tell  by  what  they  say.  One  night  I  heard  the 
big  feller,  named  Tom,  say  to  Jack,  the  other  man :  '  If 
we  don't  strike  the  stuff  Jacobs  is  done  fer,  an'  both  of  us '11 
go  with  him.'  An'  the  one  named  Jack  he  swore  at  him 
an'  says : '  Shut  your  trap,  Tom.  One  of  these  days  Jacobs 
is  goin'  to  hear  you  blattin';  then  you're  goin'  to  take  a 
trip  sooner  than  you  expected.'  " 

Billy  stood  frowning.  "  Say,  maybe  Jacobs  is  the  feller 
that  fires  the  boilers  that  rans  the  windlass,"  he  hazarded. 


CROAKER  BRINGS  A  GIFT  201 

"  Nope,  that  man's  name's  Sanderson.  He  don't  have 
anythin'  to  do  with  the  drillers.  Nope,  Bill,  Jacobs  hain't 
never  been  seen,  but  I'm  dead  sure  he's  the  boss  of  the 
outfit" 

"  All  right,  Anse.  You  kin  learn  a  lot  more  by  keepLa' 
your  ears  an'  egres  open.  Whatever  you  see  an '  hear,  you  're 
to  tell  me,  aeet  " 

Anson  nodded. 

"  All  hunky.  Now,  I'll  jest  peel  off  these  duds,  an' 
get  inter  my  ewn.  Mall  be  gettin*  uneasy." 

But  when  Cilly,  dressed  in  his  own  suit,  descended  the 
stairs  to  peer  cautiously  out,  it  was  to  find  the  room 
deserted.  Mrs.  Wilson's  voice,  high-pitched  and  excited, 
came  from  the  back  yard. 

"  WilliumI  oh  Willium!  "  she  was  calling. 

With  a  bound  he  was  outside  and  over  beside  her.  She 
sat  OR  the  block  beneath  the  hop-vine,  her  face  in  her  apron. 
She  was  making  to  and  fro  and  sobbing. 

"Ma,"  eried  Billy,  "  whatever  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh  William,"  she  cried,  "  my  heart  is  breakin'.  Oh 
to  think  how  I  misjedged  him!  " 

Billy's  eyes  opened  wide.  "  Misjedged  him?  "  he 
repeated. 

"  Oh  the  poor  little  dear!  the  poor  little  dear!  "  she 
wailed.  "  Me  hatin'  him  like  I  did,  and  him  doin'  all  he 
has  fer  me.  Oh,  Willium,  I  do  feel  so  'shamed,  an'  mean ; 
I  do  so!" 

Billy  stared  at  his  mother  in  amazement.  "  Jest  what 
has  Anse  ever  did  fer  you,  Ma?  "  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"  Anse!  "  she  snorted.  "  Who's  talkin'  about  Anse? 
It's  Croaker  I  mean.  Look  here  what  that  darlin'  crow 
brought  me  jest  a  few  minutes  ago." 

She  opened  her  hand.    In  it  lay  a  shining  twenty-dollar 


202  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

gold  piece.    Billy's  mouth  fell  open  in  astonishment. 

"  Croaker  brought  you  that?  "  he  gasped.  "Well,  I'll 
be  shot !  "  Billy  stood  up  and  gazed  about  him.  "  Where's 
Croaker  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  dunno.  He  jest  laughed  an'  sailed  away  ag'in.  I 
don't  know  where  he  got  it  but  I  do  know  good  gold  when 
I  see  it,  Willium.  Twenty  dollars!  Ain't  it  splendid?  " 

"  It  sure  is,  but  I  can't  help  wonderin'  where  Croaker 
found  it.  Maybe  you  wouldn  't  mind  lettin '  me  off  Sunday 
School  today,  Ma,"  he  suggested,  "  so's  I  kin  trail  off  an' 
find  that  Croaker.  Any  crow  that  kin  pick  up  gold  pieces 
that  way  is  worth  watchin'.  Kin  I  go  look  fer  him,  Ma?  " 

Mrs.  Wilson,  at  this  particular  moment,  was  in  the  mood 
to  grant  almost  any  request.  "  Why  Willium,"  she  said 
eagerly,  "  go  seek  him  and  bring  him  back  home.  Never 
ag'in  will  I  wish  him  dead,  poor  little  feller.  But,"  she 
added  as  though  realizing  that  her  softened  mood  had 
carried  her  a  little  too  far,  "  you  see  you  get  back  here  in 
time  fer  supper  er  I'm  liable  to  tan  you  good." 

Billy  waited  for  no  more.  He  was  up  and  away  like  a 
shot.  Mrs.  Wilson,  clutching  her  gold  piece  in  one  hand 
and  brushing  back  her  deranged  hair  with  the  other,  went 
back  into  the  house. 

Anson,  striving  to  keep  his  head  above  a  shiny  collar, 
about  which  was  twisted  a  flaming  red  tie,  was  just  issuing 
from  the  stairs.  His  mother  opened  her  hand  to  display 
her  gold  piece,  then  closed  it  again.  "  You  go  right  back 
upstairs  and  take  off  Willium 's  collar  and  tie,"  she  com- 
manded. 

"It's  my  own  collar  an'  tie,"  Anson  declared,  "  Bill 
give  it  to  me." 

"  Humph !  That's  jest  like  him,  but  why  he  should  give 
you  his  best  tie  and  collar  is  beyond  me.  Do  you  think 


CROAKER  BRINGS  A  GIFT  203 

you  deserve  any  gifts  from  your  brother  after  what  you 
done  to  him?  It  jest  goes  to  show  you  what  a  real  good 
heart  that  boy  has.  I  declare,  Anson,  I  do  wish  you  was 
more  like  him.  Now  you  get  your  hair  combed  and  your  hat 
brushed  and  get  away  to  Sunday  School." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am;  ain't  you  agoin',  Ma?  " 

"  I'll  be  long  shortly;  don't  you  wait  fer  me." 

' '  But  where 's  Bill  ?    Ain  't  he  agoin  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  he  ain't  agoin';  and  now,  not  another  of  your  fool 
questions.  Slick  your  hair  down  and  go  at  once.  Do  you 
hear  me?  " 

Anson  proceeded  to  obey  orders  without  another  word. 
As  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  turned  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son opened  her  hand  and  held  out  the  gold  piece. 

"  Croaker  found  that  and  brought  it  to  me,"  she  said, 
proudly. 

Anson 's  jaw  dropped  and  he  backed  fearfully  away. 

"  Don't  you  have  nuthin'  to  do  with  it,  Ma!  "  he  cried. 
"  That  Croaker's  a  witch  crow,  that's  what  he  is!  He's 
tryin'  to  tempt  you  with  gold!  " 

Mrs.  Wilson  stood,  the  picture  of  amazement.  "Have 
you  gone  stark  and  ravin'  crazy,  Anson?  "  she  asked 
sternly.  Then,  anger  mastering  her,  she  reached  for  the 
broom  standing  in  the  corner.  Anson  promptly  made  his 
escape,  but  as  he  passed  the  open  window,  he  gazed  wildly 
in  at  his  mother  and  cried  again :  "  Don't  you  have  nuthin' 
to  do  with  that  gold,  Ma.  If  you  do  we'll  all  get  burnt  up 
in  our  beds,  er  get  clawed  to  tatters!  " 

Mrs.  Wilson  sank  down  on  a  chair.  "  Willium's  right," 
she  sighed.  "  Anson 's  mind  is  gettin'  a  little  unbalanced. 
I'll  have  to  put  him  on  diet  and  feed  him  slippery-elm 
bark  and  alloways." 

Sighing  dolefully  she  arose,  placed  her  treasured  gold 


204  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

piece  in  the  clock  for  safe  keeping,  and  tying  on  her  bonnet, 
left  the  house.  She  walked  hurriedly  down  the  path, 
thinking  that  perhaps  she  might  be  late  for  the  opening 
hymn.  As  she  was  about  te  open  the  gate,  a  slender, 
sprightly  old  gentleman,  dressed  in  long  froek  eoat,  stepped 
out  from  the  trees  bordering  the  road,  and  gravely  lifting 
his  shiny  hat,  bowed  low,  and  said:  "  Your  pardon,  ma'am, 
I'm  axin;  but  if  yell  permit  me." 

"  Harry  OThile,"  she  gasped,  as  he  swung  the  gat* 
wide,  "  is  it  re'lly  you?  " 

"  Faith  and  who  else  ma'am,"  replied  Harry.  "  Th« 
odd  burrud  wid  new  feathers  is  ut.  Faith  ut's  mannj  a 
year  since  I  laid  these  duds  carefully  by,  thinkin'  I'd  be 
wearin'  'em  niver  ag'in  until  a  day  whin  I'd  not  be 
knowin'  ut.  But,  Mistress  Wilson,  ma'am,  ut's  other 
thoughts  have  been  mine  since  I  quit  the  dhrink.  Prase 
God  but  duty  is  iver  clearer  wid  clearer  understandin '  and 
so  ut  is.  Some  day  afore  I  die  111  glimpse  me  own  skies 
and  smell  the  burnin'  peat,  and  if  that  is  to  be  mine  thin 
must  I  live  me  life  clane  here  and  do  me  duty  like  an  Irish- 
man ar  birth.  So,  ma'am,  it's  off  I  am  to  visit  the  holy 
Father  at  Palmyria." 

Mrs.  Wilson  held  out  her  hand.  "  Harry  O'Dule,"  she 
said,  her  voice  unsteady,  "  I  always  knowed  you  had  the 
makin's  of  a  man  in  you.  I'm  gladder  than  I  kin  say." 

Harry  bowed  low.  Mrs.  Wilson  passed  through  the  gate, 
beaming  commendation  on  him  from  misty  eyes.  He  closed 
the  gate  slowly,  his  clean  shaven,  wrinkled  face  working. 
He  stood  and  watched  her  until  the  bend  in  the  road  hid 
her.  Then,  placing  his  tall  hat  jauntily  on  his  grizzled 
locks,  he  turned  and  walked  smartly  in  the  opposite 
direction. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BILLY  MEETS  A  LOVELY  GHOST 

Billy  found  Croaker  just  where  he  thought  he  would  be 
—  clinging  to  the  latch  of  the  menagerie  door  and  peering 
with  one  black  eye  through  the  chink  above  it  at  the  owls, 
the  while  he  hurled  guttural  insults  at  them. 

"Croaker,"  commanded  his  master,  "  get  away  from 
there!  " 

Croaker  balanced  himself  by  flopping  one  short  wing 
and  laughed  at  the  hisses  of  the  angered  owls.  He  hopped 
from  his  perch  to  the  peak  of  the  shanty  as  Billy  reached 
for  him  and  there  he  sat,  demurely  turning  his  head  from 
one  side  to  the  other  and  muttering  low  in  his  throat. 

"  Croaker,  come  down  here,  I  want 'a  ask  you  eome- 
thin'."  Billy's  hand  went  into  his  pocket  and  the  crow 
stood  at  attention.  Then  as  the  hand  eame  away  empty 
he  emitted  an  angry  croak  and  wobbled  further  along  the 
ridge-board. 

"  Come,  nice  old  Croaker,  tell  me  where  you  found  the 
gold,"  coaxed  Billy. 

Croaker  turned  his  back  and  murmured  a  whole  string 
of  "  ooro-corrs,"  which  to  Billy  meant  just  as  plain  as 
words  eould  say  it  that  he  hadn't  the  slightest  intention  of 
telling  anything. 

"  All  right  then,  Croaker,  I'll  call  Bingdo,  an'  feed  him 
your  dinner." 

Now,  for  the  swamp-coon,  Croaker  had  all  the  jealousy 
and  hatred  a  crow  is  capable  of  feeling  and  as  a  last 
resort,  whenever  he  was  obdurate  and  disobedient  as  he 

205 


206  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

was  now,  his  master  could  nearly  always  bring  him  to  sub- 
mission by  the  mere  mention  of  Ringdo's  name.  At  Billy's 
threat  Croaker  raised  his  head  and  poured  forth  such  a 
jargon  of  heart-broken  lamentation  that  the  listening  owls 
inside  crouched  low  in  terror,  their  amber  eyes  questioning 
the  meaning  of  the  awful  sound. 

Billy  bent  and  patted  an  imaginary  something  on  the 
ground.  ' '  Good  ol '  Ringdo, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Nice  ol '  Ringdo. ' ' 
That  was  the  last  straw.  With  a  croak  of  anguish  Croaker 
swooped  down  and  lit  on  his  master's  shoulder.  Promptly 
five  fingers  gripped  his  feet. 

"  Now,  you  black  beggar,  I've  got  you,"  exulted  Billy. 
This  fact  did  not  seem  to  worry  Croaker  in  the  least.  His 
beady  eyes  were  busy  searching  for  signs  of  his  enemy. 
Ringdo  being  nowhere  visible,  his  neck  feathers  gradually 
lowered  and  his  heavy  beak  closed.  He  snuggled  close 
against  Billy's  face  and  told  him  in  throaty  murmurs  how 
much  he  loved  him.  Billy  laughed,  and  seating  himself  on 
a  log,  placed  the  crow  on  his  knees. 

"  Croaker,"  he  addressed  the  bird,  "  you  must 'a  found 
ol'  Scroggie's  gold.  He  had  the  only  gold  money  this 
country  ever  saw,  so  you  must  have  found  it  some  way. 
I  don't  s'pose  it'll  do  Teacher  Stanhope  any  good,  'cause 
it'll  go  to  Jim  Scroggie's  father,  but,  Croaker,  it's  up  to 
us  to  get  that  money  an'  turn  it  over;  hear  me?  " 

Croaker  blinked  and  seemed  to  be  thinking  hard. 

' '  You  see, ' '  Billy  went  on,  ' '  maybe  the  will  11  be  where 
the  gold  is.  You  be  a  real  good  feller  an'  show  me  where 
you  found  the  gold-piece." 

"  Sure  I  will,"  agreed  Croaker.  He  hopped  down  and 
started  pigeon-toeing  across  the  glade,  peering  back  to 
see  if  Billy  were  coming. 

Billy   followed  slowly,   hoping,   fearing,   trusting  that 


BILLY  MEETS  A  LOVELY  GHOST  207 

Croaker's  intentions  were  of  the  best.  The  crow  was  carry- 
ing on  a  murmured  conversation  with  himself,  flapping 
his  wings,  nodding  his  head  sagely  and  in  other  ways 
manifesting  his  eagerness  to  accommodate  his  master. 
When  he  grew  tired  of  walking  he  flew  and  Billy  had  to 
run  to  keep  him  in  sight.  Straight  through  the  grove, 
across  the  green  valley  and  on  through  the  stumpy  fallow 
went  the  crow,  Billy  panting  and  perspiring  behind. 
Straight  on  to  the  pine-hedged  creek  and  still  on,  until  the 
lonely  pine  grove  of  the  haunted  house  came  into  view. 

"  Oh,  Jerusalem!  "  gasped  Billy,  "  An'  me  without  my 
rabbit  foot  charm. ' '  He  realized  where  Croaker  was  lead- 
ing him — straight  to  the  haunted  house.  He  wiped  his 
streaming  face  on  his  sleeve  and  determined  he'd  go 
through  with  it. 

Croaker  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  edge  of  the  grove 
to  look  back  at  Billy.  The  bird  was  plainly  excited;  his 
wings  were  spread,  his  neck  feathers  erect,  and  his  raucous 
voice  was  scattering  nesting  birds  from  the  evergreens  in 
flocks. 

With  wildly  beating  heart  Billy  passed  through  the  pines, 
the  twilight  gloom  adding  to  his  feeling  of  awe.  Croaker 
had  become  strangely  silent  and  now  flitted  before  him 
like  a  black  spirit  of  a  crow.  It  was  almost  a  relief  when 
at  last  the  tumble-down  shack  grew  up  in  its  tangle  of 
vines  and  weeds.  Once  more  into  the  daylight  and  Croaker 
took  up  the  interrupted  thread  of  his  conversation  with 
himself.  He  ducked  and  side-stepped  and  gave  voice  to 
expressions  which  Billy  had  never  heard  him  use  before. 

"  I  wish  he'd  shut  up,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "  but 
I'm  scared  to  make  him,  fer  fear  he'll  get  sulky  an'  quit 
cold  on  the  job." 

Croaker,  mincing  in  and  out  among  the  rag-weeds,  led 


208  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

straight  across  the  yard  to  a  tiny  ramshackle  building 
which  at  one  time  might  have  been  a  root-house.  Billy, 
feeling  that  at  any  moment  an  icy  hand  might  reach  out 
and  grip  his  windpipe,  followed.  It  was  a  terrible  risk 
he  was  running  but  the  prize  was  worth  it.  His  feet 
seemed  weighted  with  lead.  At  last  he  reached  the  root- 
house  and  leaned  against  it,  dizzy  and  panting.  Then  he 
looked  about  for  Croaker.  The  crow  had  vanished! 

A  thrill  of  alarm  gripped  Billy's  heart-strings.  Where 
had  Croaker  disappeared  to  ?  What  if  old  Scroggie  's  ghost 
had  grabbed  him  and  cast  over  him  the  cloak  of  invisi- 
bility ?  Then  in  all  likelihood  he  would  be  the  next  to  feel 
that  damp,  clutching  shroud. 

Suddenly  his  fears  vanished.  Croaker's  voice,  high- 
pitched  and  jubilant,  had  summoned  him  from  somewhere 
on  the  other  side  of  the  building.  As  quickly  as  the  weeds 
and  his  lagging  feet  would  permit  Billy  joined  him. 
Croaker  was  standing  erect  on  a  pile  of  old  bottles,  basking 
in  the  radiance  of  the  colored  lights  which  the  sun  drew 
from  them.  Undoubtedly  in  his  black  heart  he  felt  that 
his  master  would  glory  in  this  glittering  pile  even  as  he 
gloried  in  it ;  for  was  there  not  in  this  heap  of  dazzling  old 
bottles  light  enough  to  make  the  whole  world  glad  ? 

But  Billy  gazed  dully  at  the  treasure  with  sinking  heart 
and  murmured:  "You  danged  old  humbug,  you!" 
Croaker  was  surprised,  indignant,  hurt.  He  reached  down 
and  struck  one  of  the  shiniest  of  the  bottles  with  his  beak 
but  even  the  happy  tinkle  that  ensued  failed  to  rousa 
enthusiasm  in  his  master. 

"  O  Croaker,"  groaned  Billy,  "  why  won't  you  find  the 
gold  fer  me?  "  Croaker  returned  his  master's  look  of 
reproach  with  beady,  insolent  eyes.  "  Cawrara-cawrara- 
cawrara,"  he  murmured,  backing  from  tie  pile,  which 


BILLY  MEETS  A  LOVELY  GHOST  209 

meant,  "  Why  don't  you  carry  one  of  these  beautiful 
shiny  things  home  for  me?  Isn't  that  what  I  brought  you 
here  to  do?  " 

Then,  his  master  still  remaining  blind  to  the  wealth  of 
treasure  disclosed  to  him,  Croaker  spread  his  wings  and 
sailed  away  over  the  pine-tops.  Billy,  despair  in  his  heart, 
followed.  All  fear  of  the  supernatural  was  gone  from  him 
now,  crowded  out  by  bitter  disappointment  at  his  failure 
to  find  the  hidden  gold.  He  passed  close  beside  the  haunted 
house  without  so  much  as  a  thought  of  the  ghost  of  the 
man  who  had  owned  it  and  on  through  the  silent  pines 
and  shadowy,  grave-yard  silence. 

Then,  just  as  he  drew  near  to  the  edge  of  the  grove, 
he  caught  his  breath  in  terror  and  the  cold  sweat  leaped 
out  on  his  fear-blanched  face.  Drifting  directly  toward 
him  white  as  driven  snow,  came  the  ghost.  It  was  bearing 
straight  down  upon  him!  His  knees  grew  weak,  refused 
to  hold  him,  and  he  sagged  weakly  against  a  tree.  He 
closed  his  eyes  and  waited  for  the  end. 

Billy  had  heard  that  when  one  comes  face  to  face  with 
death  the  misdeeds  of  the  life  about  to  go  out  crowd  into 
one  brief  second  of  darting  reality  before  one.  He  had 
never  quite  believed  it  but  he  believed  it  now.  If  only  he 
might  have  his  misspent  life  to  live  over  again!  Never 
again  would  he  steal  Deacon  Ringold's  melons  or  swap 
broken-baeked,  broken-bladed  jack-knives  for  good  ones 
with  the  Sand-sharks,  nor  frighten  his  brother  Anson  with 
tales  of  witohee  and  goblins.  But  that  chance  was  not  for 
him.  It  was,  perhaps,  natural  that  his  last  earthly  thought 
would  be  of  her.  Her  sweet  face  shone  through  the  choking 
mists  —  her  trembling  lips  were  murmuring  a  last  "  good 
bye."  Did  she  know  what  a  wonderful  influence  her 
entrance  into  his  heart  had  exerted  toward  his  reform  ? 


210  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

With  an  effort  he  opened  his  eyes.  The  white,  gliding 
thing  was  almost  upon  him  now.  He  tried  to  shake  off 
frozen  terror  and  run.  He  could  not  move  a  muscle.  He 
groaned  and  shut  his  eyes  tight,  waiting  for  the  icy  touch 
of  a  spirit-hand.  It  found  him  after  what  seemed  an 
eternity  of  waiting  —  but  it  was  very  soft  and  warm 
instead  of  clammy  and  cold  and  the  voice  which  spoke  his 
name  was  not  in  the  least  sepulchral. 

"  Billy." 

A  long  shiver  ran  through  his  tense  frame.  He  opened 
his  eyes  slowly.  She  stood  before  him !  Yes  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it,  she  was  there,  blue  eyes  smiling  into  his,  warm 
fingers  sending  a  thrill  through  his  numbed  being. 

He  tried  to  speak,  tried  to  pronounce  her  name,  but  the 
effort  was  a  failure.  All  he  could  do  was  to  drink  in  her 
perfect  loveliness.  More  than  ever  like  an  angel  she  looked, 
standing  all  in  white  in  the  blue-dark  gloom  of  the  grove, 
her  hair  glowing  like  a  halo  above  the  deep  pools  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Billy,"  she  spoke  again,  "  are  you  sick?  " 

With  a  supreme  effort  of  will  he  shook  off  his  numbness 
and  the  red  flush  of  shame  wiped  the  pallor  from  his 
cheeks.  What  would  she  think  of  him  if  she  knew?  The 
very  anguish  of  the  thought  spurred  him  to  play  the  part 
of  hypocrite.  It  was  despicable,  he  knew,  but  what  man 
has  not  had  to  play  it,  sooner  or  later,  in  the  great  game 
of  love? 

"  Fell  out  o'  a  tree,"  he  managed  to  say.  "  Struck  my 
head  on  a  limb." 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried  commiseratingly.  She  came  closer  to 
him  —  so  close  that  her  very  nearness  made  him  dizzy  with 
joy.  With  a  tiny  handkerchief  she  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead. 


BILLY  MEETS  A  LOVELY  GHOST  211 

"  Come  out  into  the  light  and  let  me  see  where  you 
hurt  yourself, ' '  she  said,  oh  so  gently. 

"  I  don't  think  it  left  any  mark,"  Billy  stammered. 
"  Anyways,  I  feel  a  whole  lot  better  now.  It  was  foolish 
for  me  to  climb  that  tall  tree.  I  didn  't  have  to  do  it. ' ' 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it?  "  They  were  out  into  the 
hardwoods  by  now,  in  a  long  valley  strewn  with  a  net-work 
of  sunbeams  and  shadows  and  he  saw  a  hint  of  reproach 
in  her  big  eyes  as  she  asked  the  question.  His  heart  leaped 
with  sheer  joy.  She  might  just  as  well  have  said,  "  You 
have  no  right  to  run  risks,  now  that  you  have  me  to 
consider." 

They  sat  down  on  a  mossy  log.  Her  fingers  brushed 
back  his  hair  as  her  eyes  sought  vainly  for  marks  or 
bruises. 

"  I  asked  you  why  you  climbed  the  tree,  Billy?  " 

Billy's  mind  worked  with  lightning  speed. 

"  There  was  a  little  cedar  bird's  nest  in  a  tall  pine," 
he  explained.  "  I  saw  a  crow  black  bird  fly  out  of  it,  and 
knew  she  had  laid  her  egg  in  that  nest." 

"  But  why  should  she  lay  her  egg  in  the  cedar  bird's 
nest ;  hasn  't  she  a  nest  of  her  own  ?  ' '  asked  Lou. 

"  No,  crow  black  birds  are  too  lazy  to  build  nests.  They 
take  the  first  nest  comes  handy." 

She  looked  her  wonder.  ' '  But,  Billy,  you  'd  think  they 
would  want  to  enjoy  building  their  own  homes,  wouldn't 
you?  " 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "  The  crow  black  bird  don't  want 
to  be  bothered  with  hatchin'  an'  feedin'  her  own  young. 
That's  why  she  lays  in  other  bird's  nests,"  he  explained. 
"  She  jest  Jays  her  egg  an'  beats  it  out  o'  there.  The  other 
poor  little  bird  waits  for  her  to  go.  Then  she  goes  back 
to  her  nest,  glad  enough  to  find  it  hasn 't  been  torn  to  bits. ' ' 


212  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  she  hatches  the  egg  laid 
by  the  mean,  bad  black  bird,  Billy?  " 

"  Yep,  she  does  jest  that.  She  don't  seem  to  know  any 
better.  Birds  an'  animals  are  queer  that  way.  Why,  even 
a  weasel  11  nurse  a  baby  rabbit  along  with  her  own  kittens 
if  its  hungry." 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  wider  and  wider  with  wonderment. 
"  Isn't  it  strange?  "  she  half  whispered,  "  and  beautiful?  " 

"It's  mighty  queer,"  Billy  confessed.  "  But  you  see,  if 
that  little  bird  was  wise,  she'd  scoop  that  crow  black  bird's 
egg  out  o'  her  nest,  instead  of  hatchin'  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  when  the  egg's  hatched,  the  little  black  bird 
is  so  much  stronger  an'  bigger  than  the  eedar  birdies  he 
takes  most  of  the  feed  the  old  birds  bring  in.  He  starves 
the  other  Little  birds  an'  crowds  'em  clean  out  o'  the  nest." 

"  Then  it  was  brave  of  you  to  risk  climbing  that  tall  tree 
to  frighten  that  crow  bird  away,"  declared  Lou.  The 
admiration  and  commendation  in  the  blue  eyes  watching 
him  was  more  than  Billy  could  endure. 

"  Say !  "  he  burst  out.  "  I  lied  to  you,  Lou,  I  didn't  fall 
out  o'  no  tree,  I  was  jest  scared  plum  stiff  when  you  found 
me,  that's  all." 

He  hung  his  head  and  braced  himself  to  meet  what  was 
justly  coming  to  him.  She  would  despise  him  now,  he 
knew.  He  felt  a  gentle  touch  on  his  arm,  and  raised  his 
face  slowly.  The  girl's  red  lips  were  smiling.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Billy,"  she  said.  "I  —  I  koped 
yon  might" 

"  Then  you  knowed  I  was  scared?  "  he  cried  in  wonder. 

She  nodded.  "  I  suppose  I  should  have  called  to  you, 
but  I  had  forgotten  what  I  had  heard  about  this  grove 


BILLY  MEETS  A  LOVELY  GHOST  213 

being  haunted  and  that  I  was  dressed  all  in  white.  But 
when  I  came  to  you  and  saw  your  face  I  knew  that  you 
were  frightened." 

' '  Frightened !  Oh  gollies,  I  was  so  scared  that  I  chat- 
tered my  teeth  loose.  But  honest  Injun,  Lou,  I  don't  scare 
easy.  I  wouldn't  like  you  to  think  that  I'm  a  scare-cat 
about  real  things.  I'm  jest  scared  of  ghosts,  that's  all." 

Lou  knit  ker  brows  in  thought.  "  No,"  she  disagreed, 
' '  if  you  had  been  that  frightened  you  would  not  have  eome 
to  the  grove  at  all." 

Billy  leok»d  his  relief.  "  I  don't  think  I'm  quite  as 
bad  as  I  used  to  be,"  he  said.  "  Why  say,  there  WAS  a 
time  when  you  couldn't  get  me  inside  that  grove.  But 
lately  I've  been  feelin'  different  about  it.  I  don't  s'poee 
there  re'lly  is  such  a  thing  as  a  ghost,  is  there!  " 

"  No,"  eke  replied,  "  there's  no  such  thing  as  a  ghost, 
Billy." 

A  red  squirrel  came  scampering  across  the  open  sod 
before  them,  pausing  as  he  sensed  their  presence,  then 
springing  to  the  trunk  of  a  sapling  the  better  to  look  them 
over. 

"  Oh  look  at  the  dear  little  thing,"  cried  the  girl. 
"  What  d«  you  suppose  he's  saying?  "  as  the  squirrel 
broke  into  a  shrill  chatter. 

"  Why  he's  callin'  us  all  the  mean  things  he  knows,  I 
guess,"  laughed  Billy.  "  We're  in  his  way,  you  see." 

"  Then  let's  get  out  of  his  way.  I  suppose  he  tb.mks 
we  have  no  business  here  and  maybe  he's  right.  Where 
shall  we  go,  Billy?  " 

Billy  thought  a  moment.  "  Say,  how'd  you  like  to  go 
out  in  my  punt,  on  Levee  Crick?  I  kin  show  you  some 
cute  baby  mushrats  an'  some  dandy  black-birds'  nests.  It's 
not  far  away.  We  go  'cross  that  big  fallow  and  through  a 


214  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

strip  o'  hardwoods  an'  then  we  climb  a  stump  fence  —  an' 
there's  the  crick.  It's  an  awful  fine  crick,  an'  plumb  full 
of  bass  an'  pike.  Say,  will  you  go?  " 

He  leaned  toward  her,  waiting  for  her  answer.  His 
heart  was  singing  with  joy  —  joy  that  spilled  out  of  his 
grey  eyes  and  made  his  lips  smile  in  spite  of  him.  What 
a  sweet  and  grand  privilege  it  would  be  to  carry  this 
wonderful  girl,  who  had  so  transformed  his  world,  along 
the  familiar  by-ways  that  held  such  rare  treasures  of  plant 
and  wild  life. 

She  was  looking  away  across  the  forest  to  a  strip  of 
fleecy  cloud  drifting  across  the  deep  azure  of  the  sky. 

' '  I  should  like  to  go, ' '  she  said  at  length,  '  '  if  you  are 
sure  you  don 't  think  I  will  be  a  bother. " 

' '  Bother !  ' '  Billy 's  pulses  were  leaping,  his  soul  singing. 
He  reached  down  a  hand  and  trustingly  she  put  her's 
in  it.  Very  soft  and  cool  it  felt  to  Billy's  hot  palm,  as 
he  assisted  her  from  the  log.  Then  side  by  side  they  passed 
down  through  the  long  green  valley. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS 

Erie  London  faced  her  father  across  the  breakfast  table, 
dimpled  chin  cupped  in  her  brown  hand.  It  was  early 
morning;  a  red  sun  was  just  lifting  above  the  Point  to 
wipe  away  the  white  mists  of  the  channel  and  the  bay. 
The  American  yacht  which  had  put  into  harbor  the  night 
before  had  cleared  and  was  now  but  a  white  speck  in  the 
distance. 

' '  She  ought  to  make  Cleveland  before  dark  if  this  breeze 
holds,"  the  light-house  keeper  said  as  he  twisted  the  big 
cigar  which  the  commodore  had  given  him  about  in  his 
fingers.  ' '  Just  what  word  was  it  that  lawyer  chap,  Maddoc, 
wanted  us  to  get  to  Swanson,  at  the  foot,  Erie?  " 

' '  Why,  he  asked  us  to  tell  Swanson  that  he  and  a 
friend  are  coming  to  his  place  to  stay  for  a  couple  of 
weeks  duck-shooting,  Daddy,"  Erie  answered. 

"  When?  " 

"  Early  in  October,  Mr.  Maddoc  said." 

"  Humph!  It  does  beat  all  what  foolish  ideas  them  big 
guns  take.  Think  of  them  two  comin'  all  the  way  from 
Cleveland  here  just  to  shoot  ducks.  Old  man  Swanson 
knows  his  book,  too.  He  charges  them  sports  awful  prices ; 
nine  dollars  a  week  each  and  makes  'em  sleep  two  in  a 
bed  at  that;  and  every  fall  that  old  ramblin'  house  of  his 
is  chuck  kerbang  full  of  shooters." 

Landon  was  much  improved  in  health.  He  spoke  with 
little  effort,  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks  were  filling  and  his 
eyes  were  brighter  than  the  girl  had  seen  them  for  many 

215 


216  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

a  day.  He  gazed  longingly  down  at  the  cigar,  then  glancing 
up  to  catch  his  daughter's  reproachful  look,  sighed  and 
laid  it  on  the  table. 

"I'd  love  to  smoke  it,"  he  confessed,  "  but  you  needn't 
worry,  Chick  I'm  through  with  tobacco  till  I'm  my  real 
self  ag'in.  But  I  feel  so  darned  much  better  «nce  I  quit 
smokin'  I  simply  want  to  smoke  all  the  more." 

"  Poor  old  Daddy,"  Erie  laughed,  coming  around  to  sit 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  It  does  seem  too  bad  you  can't 
hare  your  smoke.  I  'm  sure  you  miss  it  dreadfully ;  but  you 
see  you  are  so  much  stronger  and  better  I  —  well,  I  gimply 
won't  let  you  smoke  just  yet,  that's  all." 

His  face  had  brightened  at  the  sound  ef  her  laughter. 
Now  he  patted  her  hand,  as  his  eyes  sought  the  window. 
Perhaps  the  old  songs  would  come  back  even  as  the  lamghter 
had  come  and  surprise  him.  Perhaps  she  was  forgetting 
Stanhope.  But  no,  much  as  he  desired  that  this  should  be, 
he  knew  her  too  well  for  that. 

With  his  eyes  on  the  white  sail,  now  a  tiny  dot  on 
the  horizon,  his  mind  went  back  to  that  scene  of  a  month 
ago,  when  he  had  told  her  of  Hinter's  proposal  and  of  his 
consent  to  it.  He  would  never  quite  forget  the  look  that 
came  into  her  face. 

"  I  eould  never  marry  Hinter,"  she  had  said.  "  I  love 
one  man  —  and  to  him  I  shall  be  true,  always." 

"  But  he  is  blind,  child.  He  has  given  you  up,"  Landon 
had  reasoned.  And  with  her  face  aglow  she  had  answered. 
"  He  is  blind,  but  he  can  never  give  me  up,  because  he 
loves  me." 

Reading  in  the  dry,  suffering  eyes  she  had  turned  upon 
him  a  purpose  stronger  than  life  itself,  what  could  he  do 
but  take  her  in  his  arms  and  ask  her  to  forgive  him  for 
the  old  meddler  he  was?  Perhaps  he  had  erred  in  this. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  217 

He  did  not  want  to  think  so.  But  she  looked  so  inueh  like 
her  mother  tkat  morning  it  might  be  — 

"  Daddy." 

He  came  out  of  his  abstraction  with  a  start  and  glanced 
at  her,  almost  guiltily.  "  Yes,  Chick." 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  Hinter  yet?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  I  told  him  that  same  day.  Told 
him  that  yon  said  you  could  never  be  more  to  him  than 
what  you  now  are.  Why  do  you  ask,  Erie?  " 

"  I  have  wondered  why  he  keeps  coining  here,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  You  scarcely  need  his  companionship,  now  you 
are  busy  with  your  duties.  But  there, ' '  she  broke  off  with 
a  smile,  "  I  have  no  right  to  doubt  his  sincerity;  I  am 
sure  he  has  never  spoken  one  word  to  me  that  he  should 
not  apeak  and  I  know  he  is  really  fond  of  you. ' ' 

Landon  knit  his  shaggy  brows.  "  I  don't  know,  Chick. 
I'm  afraid  he  still  hopes.  He  has  as  much  as  told  me  so. 
'  We've  been  too  hasty  with  her,'  he  said,  '  we  must  have 
patience.'  " 

Erie's  face  went  very  white.  "  He  mustn't  come  here 
any  more,"  she  said  quickly.  "  With  your  permission  I 
shall  tell  him  so,  Daddy. ' ' 

He  was  silent  for  a  time.  "  Just  as  you  like,"  he  said 
at  length.  "  If  his  comin'  annoys  you,  dear,  you  tell 
him  so." 

She  bent  and  kissed  him.  ' '  Best  Daddy  ever  was, ' '  she 
whispered.  Then  jumping  up  she  ran  to  the  stove  and 
put  the  kettle  on. 

"  I  saw  Billy  Wilson  yesterday  when  I  was  out  sailing," 
she  called,  ' '  and  he  had  the  sweetest  little  girl  with  him. 
Her  name  is  Lou  Scroggie  and  I  fell  in  love  with  her  on 
sight." 

"  Billy  with  a  girl!  "  cried  Landon  in  wonder. 


218  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Yes.  They  were  out  in  Billy's  punt,  gathering  water- 
lilies,  and,  oh  Daddy,  they  seemed  so  happy.  I  could  have 
hugged  them  both.  Billy  told  me  that  he  and  Maurice 
Keeler  were  going  shooting  ducks  this  morning  and  I  asked 
him  to  come  over  here  for  breakfast  as  usual.  The  marsh 
shooting  is  all  over  by  sunrise,  you  know. ' ' 

Her  father  nodded.  "I'll  bet  a  cookie  that  was  Billy's 
old  muzzle  loader  I  heard  down  in  the  duck-ponds  about 
daylight,"  he  laughed.  "  Maybe,"  he  added  hopefully, 
"  he'll  fetch  us  a  brace  of  ducks." 

"  Why,  there  he  is  now,"  she  cried,  glancing  through 
the  window.  "  Maurice  isn't  with  him,  though.  I  know 
that  old  punt  as  far  as  I  can  see  it.  I  must  get  the  potatoes 
and  bacon  on ;  he  '11  be  hungry  as  a  bear. ' ' 

Landon  put  on  his  hat  and  went  down  to  the  beach  to 
welcome  their  visitor.  "  Well,  Billy,"  he  called  as  the 
punt  appeared  around  the  bend  in  the  shore,  "  how  many 
ducks  did  old  Liza- Ann  drop  out  of  the  sky  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Two  greys  and  a  mallard,"  Billy  answered  over  his 
shoulder.  "  Could  'a  killed  more,  but  what's  the  use.  They 
wouldn't  keep;  weather's  too  warm." 

"  Well  now,  I  can't  see  why  a  dozen  wouldn't  keep  as 
well  as  three,"  returned  the  keeper,  as  he  pulled  the  punt 
high  on  shore. 

"  They  would,  I  s'pose,"  laughed  Billy  as  he  stepped 
out,  followed  by  Moll,  the  little  spaniel,  ' '  but  these  three 
don't  have  to  keep  long;  you  see  we're  goin'  to  have 
these  fer  dinner." 

' '  Are  we  now  ?  ' '  Landon  rubbed  his  hands  and  smacked 
his  lips  in  anticipation.  "  You're  goin'  to  stay  and  help 
clean  up  on  'em,  Billy?  " 

"  Yep,  111  stay.  I'm  goin'  to  paint  Erie's  skiff  fer  her. 
I'll  slip  into  the  ponds  ag'in  on  my  w,ay  to  the  Settlement 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  219 

an'  kill  enough  ducks  fer  our  folks  an'  the  neighbors." 

Erie  was  waving  to  him  from  the  kitchen  door.  "  Where's 
Maurice?  "  she  called. 

"  His  Ma  wouldn't  let  him  come.  Afraid  he'd  get  wet 
an'  go  sick  ag'in.  Gee !  that  coffee  smells  good,  Erie." 

"  Go  'long  in  and  tackle  it  while  it's  hot,"  advised  Lan- 
don.  "  I'll  start  in  on  pluckin'  these  birds.  But  first  we'll 
have  to  let  Chick  see  'em.  Say,  Billy,  they're  nigh  as  big 
as  tame  'uns!  " 

Erie  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy  at  sight  of  the  wild 
ducks.  "  Oh,  aren't  they  lovely!  "  she  cried.  "  Put  them 
in  the  ice-house,  Daddy,  until  Billy  starts  for  home." 

Billy,  who  had  squared  away  at  his  breakfast,  spoke  with 
his  mouth  full.  "  We're  goin'  to  have  'em  fer  dinner," 
he  informed  his  hostess. 

"  But,  Billy,"  she  remonstrated,  "  they  11  be  expecting 
you  to  bring  some  ducks  home,  you  know." 

"  Billy  says  he'll  shoot  some  more  this  evenin',"  spoke 
up  her  father,  who  did  not  intend  to  allow  anything  to 
interfere  with  a  duck  dinner  if  he  could  help  it. 

' '  These  ducks  wouldn  't  keep  till  I  get  home, ' '  said  Billy. 

"  No,"  supported  Landon,  "  weather's  too  warm,  you 
see,  Chick.  I'll  start  in  on  dressin'  'em  right  now,"  he 
chuckled,  exchanging  winks  with  Billy. 

' '  You  're  a  pair  of  plotters, ' '  cried  Erie,  ' '  and  being  a 
weak,  helpless  girl  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  agree  with  you 
and  submissively  roast  those  birds  to  suit  your  taste. ' ' 

"  You  11  find  onions  and  savory  hangin'  to  the  rafters 
upstairs,"  suggested  her  father  as  he  carried  the  ducks 
outside. 

Erie  sat  down  opposite  to  Billy,  and  watched  him  while 
he  ate.  He  smiled  across  at  her.  "  Your  Dad  seems  a 
whole  lot  better,"  he  said. 


220  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Yes,  ever  so  much.  He's  almost  his  old  self  again.  He 
has  quit  smoking,  you  see,  and  he  has  promised  me  not  to 
smoke  until  he  is  quite  well  again. ' ' 

Billy  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  omiled  rem- 
iniscently.  "  I  was  jest  thinkin'  of  ol'  Harry  O'Dule," 
he  said,  answering  the  question  in  her  eyes.  "  He's  quit 
a  bad  habit,  too.  He's  quit  drinkin';  don't  touch  a  drop 
any  more  —  hasn't  fer  over  a  month  now." 

"  Oh  isn't  that  splendid,"  cried  the  girl.  "  He's  such 
a  dear  old  fellow  when  he's  sober.  Do  you  suppose  he'll 
be  strong  enough  to  give  up  drink  altogether,  Billy  t  " 

4 '  Well,  he  seems  to  be  in  earnest  about  it.  I  roily  don 't 
think  he'll  drink  any  more.  He  says  that  he's  got  his  tin 
whistle  an'  his  cat  an'  don't  need  whisky.  He's  changed 
wonderful,  there's  no  mistake  about  that,  Ma  saw  him 
yesterday.  He  was  dressed  in  his  Prince  Albert  an'  plug 
hat,  an'  Ma  says  he  was  that  changed  she  didn't  know  him 
at  first." 

Erie  laughed  softly,  "  I  know  very  well  you're  had  a 
hand  in  his  reform,  Billy,"  she  said. 

"  Nope,"  denied  Billy,  "  but  I  ain't  say  in'  but  that  my 
owls  an'  snakes  might  have  played  a  part  in  it."  And  he 
proceeded  to  relate  the  deception  he  had  practiced  on  Harry 
while  the  old  man  was  in  his  cups. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands  in  joy  at  the  story.  "  And 
you  let  him  think  he  had  the  delirium  tremens !  Oh,  Billy, 
is  there  anything  you  wouldn't  do,  I  wonder  f  " 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "  I  dunno,"  he  replied.  "  That's 
a  hard  question  to  answer." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  He  knew  that  she  was  think- 
ing that  last  year  on  the  opening  morning  of  the  duck  sea- 
son Prank  Stanhope  had  sat  at  this  table  with  him.  She 
was  gazing  from  the  window,  far  down  to  where  the  Point 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  221 

was  lost  in  the  Settlement  forests.  He  saw  her  bosom  rise 
and  fall,  saw  a  tear  grow  up  in  her  eyes  and  roll  unheeded 
down  her  cheek. 

In  boyish  sympathy  his  hand  reached  out  to  clasp  the 
slender  brown  one  clenched  upon  the  white  cloth.  He 
longed  to  aek  her  if  what  the  Settlement  was  saying  —  that 
she  was  going  to  marry  Hinter  —  was  true.  And  then  as 
quickly  as  the  thought  itself  came  shame  of  it.  His  hand 
clasped  her  hand  more  tightly. 

"  He  went  with  me  to  the  foot  of  the  Causeway  last 
night,  ag'in,"  he  said  softly. 

She  turned  and  the  blood  mounted  swiftly  to  her  white 
cheeks.  "  And  did  he  feel  the  light  again,  Billy?  "  she 
whispered  eagerly. 

"  He  felt  the  light,"  said  the  boy,  "  an'  he  sang  all  the 
way  back  home." 

"  Ohl  "  she  cried  and  hid  her  face  on  her  arms. 

Billy  arose  hastily,  saying  something  about  helping  her 
father  with  the  ducks  and  went  outside.  He  found  Lan- 
don  seated  on  a  soap-box  behind  the  boat  house,  indus- 
triously stripping  the  ducks  of  their  feathers. 

"  Say,"  said  the  man  as  Billy  came  up,  "  you  know 
when  ducks  put  on  an  extra  coverin'  of  feathers  a  hard 
winter  is  in  sight?  Well,  by  gosh,  these  birds  have  all  put 
on  an  extra  undershirt.  Look,"  holding  the  duck  in  his 
hands  up  for  inspection.  "  How's  that  for  a  coat  o* 
down?  " 

"  It  sure  is  heavy,"  agreed  Billy.  "  I  saw  another  sure 
sign  over  there  in  the  ponds  that  says  it's  goin'  to  be 
a  hard  winter,  one  I've  never  knowed  to  fail.  It  was  the 
mushrat  houses.  The  rats  are  throwin'  'em  up  mighty  big 
an 'thick." 

"And  warm,  I'll  bet." 


222  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Yep,  an'  warm.  We're  sure  to  have  a  rough,  fall  an' 
a  humdinger  of  a  winter." 

"  And  I  s'pose  a  rough  fall  means  good  duckin'?  " 
laughed  Landon.  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  Billy,  before  I  forget. 
Would  you  mind  runnin'  in  to  old  Swanson 's  landin'  on 
your  way  home  and  tellin'  him  that  a  couple  of  fellers 
from  Cleveland  are  comin'  to  his  place  early  next  month 
to  shoot.  They  were  here  last  night.  One  of  em's  a  lawyer 
named  Maddoc  an'  he  give  me  this  money  to  pass  on  to 
Swanson,  so's  the  old  codger  would  be  sure  and  hold  a 
room  for  'em." 

He  felt  in  his  vest  pocket  and  fished  out  a  ten  dollar  note, 
which  he  handed  to  Billy.  ' '  Maddoc  and  a  party  of  other 
men  were  cruisin'  in  a  yacht.  They  docked  here  last 
night, ' '  he  explained.  ' '  Left  at  sunup  for  Cleveland. ' ' 

"  I  saw  the  yacht  leave  the  pier,"  said  Billy.  "  She  sure 
was  a  dandy,  wasn  't  she  ?  ' ' 

"  Never  saw  finer  lines  than  her's,"  agreed  Landon. 
' '  You  're  sure  you  don 't  mind  gettin '  that  word  to  Swanson 
now,  Billy?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I'll  run  in  to  his  dock  tonight,  an'  tell 
him." 

"  Good.  There,  thank  goodness  this  job  of  pluekin's 
done  at  last."  Landon  rose,  rubbed  his  cramped  legs  and 
gathered  the  stripped  ducks  up  by  the  necks.  "  We'll 
leave  the  rest  to  Erie,"  he  chuckled.  "  This  is  about  as 
far  as  she  ever  lets  me  go.  Comin'  in?  " 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "  I've  got  a  skiff  to  paint  'fore 
three  o'clock  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  "  so  I  best  get  busy. 
Tell  Erie  not  to  ferget  to  blow  the  fog-horn  when  the  ducks 
are  done." 

Landon  went  on  slowly  to  the  kitchen.  With  his  hand 
on  the  door-latch  he  paused  and  a  smile  lit  his  seamed  face. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  223 

Above  the  clatter  of  dishes  came  a  girl's  sweet  soprano: 

"  Her  voice  was  low  and  sweet, 
And  she's  all  the  world  to  me, 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  down  and  dee." 

11  I  knowed  it,"  whispered  the  man,  softly.  "  I  knowed 
the  old  songs  would  come  back  ag'in.  Billy  must  have  had 
somethin'  to  do  with  it;  I'll  bet  a  cookie  he  had!  "  He 
opened  the  door  gently  and  entered.  He  placed  the  ducks 
on  the  table  and  softly  withdrew  again. 


It  was  late  afternoon  when  Billy  stepped  into  his  punt 
and  with  swift,  strong  strokes  sent  it  skimming  toward 
the  duck-ponds.  At  the  point  where  the  shore  curved 
abruptly  he  lifted  his  hat  and  waved  to  the  man  and  girl 
watching  him  from  the  pier. 

Moll  looked  up  into  his  face  and  whined.  "  Don't  worry, 
girlie,"  Billy  told  her,  "  we're  goin'  on,  but  we're  comin' 
back  ag'in  soon  an'  have  another  o'  Erie's  duck  dinners, 
an'  Teacher  Stanhope's  goin  to  be  with  us,  don't  you 
ferget  that." 

As  he  spoke,  he  saw  another  boat  round  the  distant  grass- 
point  and  put  into  Jerunda  cut,  the  entrance  to  the  main 
pond.  The  smile  left  his  face.  "  Beat  us  to  it,  Moll,"  he 
sighed  to  the  spaniel  whose  brown  eyes  had  also  glimpsed 
the  skiff.  "  They'll  be  set  by  the  time  we  get  in  an'  they've 
got  the  pick  of  the  ponds,  no  use  denyin'  that.  We'll  have 
to  portage  'cross  to  a  back  slough  an'  all  the  ducks  we'll 
get  a  chance  at  are  them  they  miss.  Well,  cheer  up,"  as 
the  dog,  sensing  the  disgust  in  his  voice,  growled  deep  in 
her  throat. 


224  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Reaching  the  cut  Billy  found  the  other  shooters  having 
some  difficulty  in  getting  their  heavy  skiff  through  the 
shallow  and  deceptive  water,  a  feat  whieh  only  one  who 
was  used  to  navigating  could  hope  to  accomplish  success- 
fully. At  the  same  time  he  noted,  with  a  start,  that  the 
men  in  the  skiff  were  the  mysterious  drillers,  Tom  and 
Jack. 

"  Hello,  you!  "  he  shouted.  "  You'll  have  to  back  up 
an'  take  the  run  to  your  left." 

The  larger  of  the  two  men  grunted  a  surly  response  and 
with  much  pushing  and  swearing  they  began  to  laboriously 
back  out  of  the  blind  channel.  Billy  and  Moll  watched 
them,  the  dog  growling  her  antagonism  of  the  interlopers. 
As  the  skiff  passed  his  bow  Billy  noted  that  the  guns  lying 
across  the  seat  were  both  of  the  new  breech-loading  pattern. 

The  occupants  of  the  skiff  east  a  contemptuous  look  at 
his  old  muzzle-loader,  as  they  passed,  and  one  of  them 
laughed  and  said  something  in  an  aside  to  his  companion. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  kill  any  ducks  with  that  old  iron?  " 
he  sneerad,  looking  hard  at  Billy. 

Billy  felt  his  cheeks  turn  hot.  "  I  might,"  he  returned, 
"  an'  ag'in,  I  mightn't." 

"  That's  one  on  you,  Tom,"  laughed  the  man  named 
Jack.  "  Quit  roasting  the  kid.  We'd  have  been  mired  yet 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  him." 

Tom  allowed  a  shade  of  amiability  to  creep  into  kis  tones 
as  he  said :  * '  First  time  we  ever  shot  these  grounds,  and 
we're  kinder  green  on  the  ins  and  outs  of  'cm.  We're 
drillin*  fer  water  down  in  the  Settlement.  Lost  our  drill 
this  mornin'  and  had  to  send  aeroes  the  lake  fer  a  fishin' 
outfit,  so  thought  we'd  put  in  the  time  shootin*  a  bit." 

Billy  made  no  reply. 

"  Neeborly,  ain't  he?  "  growled  Tom  to  his  companion. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  225 

"  Niee,  fmn-dly  sorter  youngsters  they  raise  on  this  God 
forsaken  spot,  I  say." 

"  He  thinks  you're  guyin'  him,"  said  the  other  man. 
"  How's  he  to  know  what  you  mean  by  '  fishin '-outfit? ' 
He  likely  thinks  you  mean  a  rod  and  reel.  Better  push 
along  and  Blind  your  own  business.  Next  thing  you  're  goin ' 
to  say  is  somethin'  about  '  shootin'  a  well,'  and  if  Jacobs 
gets  to  hear  of  that  kinder  talk  —  ' ' 

They  were  moving  off,  and  Billy  did  not  hear  the  rest 
of  the  sentence.  As  they  entered  the  main  run,  the  smaller 
man  called:  "  Hey,  sonny,  whereabouts  is  the  best  point 
in  yonder?  " 

Billy  gritted  his  teeth.  He  resented  these  strangers  com- 
ing into  his  shooting  grounds  and  acting  as  though  they 
owned  them.  Por  them  to  expect  him  to  show  them  just 
where  the  best  point  was  to  be  found  seemed  to  him  to  be 
going  a  whole  lot  too  far.  He  disliked  and  distrusted  them. 
From  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  of  them  he  believed  they 
were  the  men  who  robbed  the  Twin  Oaks  store.  He  wanted 
to  tell  them  so  now,  but  something  told  him  to  curb  his 
temper  and  act  the  part  of  a  sport  who  could  afford  to 
make  certain  allowances. 

"  The  beet  point's  straight  ahead  of  you,"  he  answered. 
"  You'll  find  a  rush  blind  already  built  on  it" 

He  picked  up  his  paddle  and  followed  in  the  wake  of 
the  other  boat  The  men  were  putting  out  their  decoys  as 
Billy  passed  the  point. 

"  Say,  yon,"  called  Tom,  "  if  this  is  sweh  am  all-fired 
good  spot  it's  a  wonder  you  didn't  take  it  yourself;  you 
had  lots  of  time  to  beat  us  to  it,  didn't  you?  " 

' '  You  was  in  the  run  first,  wasn  't  you  ?  ' '  said  Billy, 
coldly. 

"  Why,  sure  we  was,  but  we  were  stuck  tight.     Yeu 


226  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

might  have  passed  us,  easy  enough." 

"  Well,  we  don't  play  the  game  that  way  in  these  parts," 
said  Billy  and  passed  on,  unheedf  ul  of  the  uncomplimentary 
names  the  chagrined  driller  threw  after  him. 

Half  way  down  the  long  pond  he  drew  into  shore  and, 
pulling  the  punt  after  him  through  the  tall  rushes,  made 
the  portage  across  to  the  inner  slough.  It  was  a  long,  hard 
pull,  but  the  track  he  laid  would  make  the  return  portage 
much  easier. 

"  Looks  like  a  good  feedin'  place,  Moll,"  he  addressed 
the  spaniel  as  he  paddled  slowly  across  to  the  far  shore 
of  the  slough.  "  Good  grass  here  fer  hidin',  too;  but  not 
much  chance  of  findin'  a  down  bird  without  a  good  dog, 
an'  I've  got  her — eh  girlie?  " 

Moll  wagged  her  short  tail  gleefully. 

"  Now  then,  girlie,  it's  comin'  on  to  flight-time,  so  well 
jest  set  out  decoys  right  here. ' '  Billy  picked  up  the  wooden 
ducks  and  placed  them  as  naturally  as  he  knew  how  some 
twenty  yards  out  from  shore.  As  he  drew  the  punt  well 
up  among  the  tall  rushes  he  saw  the  first  line  of  ducks 
drift  in  from  the  bay. 

"Down,  Moll!  "  he  whispered,  as  he  cocked  the  old 
muzzle-loader.  "  They're  headin'  straight  in.  Them  driller 
fellers  are  goin'  to  get  a  chance  to  make  a  clean-up  on  that 
bunch,  sure !  ' ' 

Straight  across  the  marsh,  following  the  cut,  the  ducks 
came  on,  half  a  dozen  big  "  blacks,"  with  long  neeks  out- 
stretched and  quick  eyes  seeking  for  feeding  ones  of  their 
own  kind.  Then,  suddenly,  the  leader  gave  a  soft  quack 
and  Billy  saw  the  flock  swoop  low. 

"  Oh,  gollies!  Right  into  their  decoys,"  he  groaned. 
"  Now  they'll  give  it  to  'em,  jest  as  they're  settlin'." 

A  long,  harrowing  moment  passed.     Then  quickly  and 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  DUCKS  227 

close  together  four  shots  rang  out.  Moll  whined  dolefully 
and  Billy,  peering  through  the  rushes,  gave  a  low  whistle 
of  surprise.  "  Didn't  down  a  single  bird,"  he  muttered, 
"  an'  by  gollies,  they've  sent  'em  right  across  to  us." 

Almost  simultaneously  with  his  words  the  whistle  of 
strong  wings  grew  up  and  the  six  big  blacks  swept  in,  low 
over  his  decoys. 

It  was  a  sure  hand  that  raised  the  old  gun,  a  sure  eye 
that  glanced  along  its  brown  barrels.  At  the  first  loud 
report  of  the  black  powder  the  leader  of  the  flock  crumpled 
up  and  the  second  in  command  drifted  sidewise  from  the 
flock.  The  left  barrel  spoke  and  a  third  duck  twisted  from 
the  remainder  of  the  flock,  to  fall  with  a  splash  into  the 
water. 

Moll,  whose  eyes  had  never  left  the  second  bird  down, 
had  slipped  quietly  away  through  the  rushes.  Billy,  having 
launched  the  punt  and  retrieved  the  two  birds  on  the  water, 
found  her  waiting  for  him  on  shore,  the  dead  duck  in  her 
mouth.  He  patted  her  brown  side  and  spoke  a  word  of 
commendation  to  her;  then  quickly  he  reloaded. 

The  sun  was  almost  on  the  western  horizon  now  and  the 
ducks  were  beginning  to  come  in  fast,  most  of  them  from 
off  the  bay;  consequently  the  shooters  in  the  front  pond 
had  always  first  chance.  But  Billy  knew  they  were  having 
little  or  no  success.  Every  duck  that  offered  itself  as  a 
target  to  them  he  saw  almost  as  soon  as  they  did  and 
although  the  report  of  their  guns  sounded  at  quick  intervals 
the  ducks  seemed  to  keep  on,  straight  across  to  where  he 
crouched  with  the  excited  dog  by  his  side. 

By  the  time  the  sun  had  fallen  behind  the  far  rim  of 
forest  he  was  quite  content  with  his  evening's  bag,  which 
consisted  of  five  blacks,  a  pair  of  greys,  two  blue  winged 
teal,  A  pintail  and  a  pair  of  green  headed  mallards. 


228  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Quickly  he  made  the  portage  and  Grossed  the  pond  into 
Jerunda.  He  could  hear  tke  other  shooters  ahead  ef  him, 
speaking  in  profane  tones  of  disgust  at  their  luek.  He 
found  them  waiting  for  him  on  the  edge  of  the  bay,  but 
he  kept  right  on  paddling. 

"  What  luck,  sonny?  "  sailed  the  man,  Tom,  as  he 
passed. 

Billy  told  him  of  his  bag. 

The  man  swore  and  said  something  to  his  companion. 
"  Hey,  hold  up!  Want  to  sell  part  of  them  dueks?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Nope."  Billy  shipped  his  paddl*  and  picked  up  his 
oars.  Somehow  he  felt  safer  then.  H©  believed  that  men  like 
those  behind  were  capable  of  almost  any  crime.  What  if 
they  should  make  up  their  minds  to  hare  his  ducks  any- 
way? Well,  they  couldn't  catch  him  now.  There  were 
two  of  them  in  a  heavy  skiff  and  he  was  alone  in  his  light 
punt,  so  let  them  try  it  if  they  wanted  to.  But  whatever 
might  have  been  their  thought,  it  was  clear  they  knew 
better  than  pursue  that  swiftly  moving  boat.  Qmiekly  thay 
fell  behind  him  and  were  swallowed  up  in  the  deepening 
shadows. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TEACHER  JOHNSTON  RESIGNS 

September  passed  laden  with  summer  perfumes  and  song 
and,  beneath  a  blanket  of  hoar  frost,  October  awoke  to 
send  her  hazy  heralds  far  across  wooded  upland  and  open. 
Slowly  those  wreathing  mists  kissed  leaf  and  fern,  as 
though  whispering :  ' '  Rest  sweetly,  until  spring  brings  you 
back  onee  again." 

So  it  seemed  to  the  boy,  as  from  the  brow  of  a  hill  he 
watched  the  dawn-haze  drift  toward  the  newly-open  sun- 
gates  of  the  eastern  sky;  for  autumn  always  brought  a 
feeling  of  sadness  to  Billy.  He  missed  the  twitter  of  the 
birds,  the  thousand  and  one  notes  of  the  wild  things  he 
loved  and  which  always  passed  out  and  away  from  hia 
world  with  the  summer.  The  first  hoar  frost  had  come; 
soon  the  leaves  would  turn  golden  and  crimson,  the  fern- 
ohimps  crumple  and  wither  into  sere,  dead,  scentless 
things.  Then  with  shortening  days  and  darkening  skies 
those  leaves  and  plants  would  sag  to  earth  and  the  gaunt 
arms  of  the  bare  trees  would  lift  empty  nests  toward  snow- 
spitting  skies. 

No  more  would  tke  fire-flies  weare  a  gauze  of  golden 
stars  above  the  marshlands  at  the  foot  of  the  Causeway. 
The  season  of  green  and  blue  had  lived  and  died  and  in 
its  place  had  been  bora,  a  season  of  drab  and  brown. 
Summer  was  gone.  The  song-birds  had  migrated.  Soon 
the  green,  rusk  flakfa  would  sway,  grey  and  dead  and  the 
bronze  woodcoeks  would  whistle  away  from  the  bog-lands, 
for  seldom  did  they  tarry  after  the  first  frost.  Along  the 


230  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

creek  the  red-winged  black-birds  would  be  sounding  their 
up-and-away  notes.  No  happy  carol  to  welcome  the  first 
glow  of  dawn!  No  wonder  Billy  sighed.  Then  he  lifted 
his  head  quickly  as,  high  above  him,  sounded  the  whistle 
of  wings.  Up  from  the  north  a  wedgeshaped  flock  of  wild 
ducks  came  speeding,  white  backs  flashing  as  they  pitched 
downward  in  unbroken  formation  towards  the  calling  bay- 
waters. 

Billy  caught  his  breath  quickly  and  a  glad  smile  drove 
the  shadow  from  his  face.  "  Canvasbacks !  "  he  murmured. 
"  They've  come  early.  I  bet  anythin'  the  flocks  I  heard 
comin'  in  through  the  night  was  canvasbacka,  too  —  an* 
redhead!  I  must  go  right  over  after  breakfast  an'  tell 
Teacher  Stanhope;  he'll  be  sure  to  say  '  Let's  go  get  'em.' 
Oh,  gee!  " 

He  turned  back  toward  the  house,  then  paused  as  the 
mellow  ' '  whirt-o-whirt  "  of  a  quail  sounded  from  the 
sumach  which  bordered  the  meadow  across  the  road.  ' '  Old 
Cock  quail,"  he  cautioned  softly,  "  I  wouldn't  give  that 
covey-call  too  often  if  I  was  you.  Joe  Scraff  jest  might 
hear  you.  Only  note  safe  f er  you  to  whistle  is  '  Bob  White  ' 
—  but  you  won't  be  whistlin'  that  till  spring  eomes  ag'in." 

It  may  be  that  the  white-throated  leader  of  the  brown 
covey  in  the  stubble  sensed  the  murmured  warning  of  his 
friend,  for  he  did  not  whistle  again.  The  smile  still  on 
his  lips,  Billy  vaulted  the  rail  fence  and  sought  the  path 
to  the  house. 

He  found  his  father,  mother  and  Anson  seated  at  the 
breakfast  table  and  as  he  took  his  place  he  was  conscious 
of  a  foreboding  of  impending  storm.  The  conviction  was 
strengthened  when  his  father's  foot,  reaching  sympathetic- 
ally underneath  the  table,  touched  his  ever  so  gently.  With 
perfect  sangfroid  he  speared  a  strip  of  bacon  with  his  fork 


TEACHER  JOHNSTON  RESIGNS  231 

and  held  his  breath  as  he  waited  for  the  worst.  Two  taps 
of  that  foot  meant  "  On  your  guard,"  three  taps  "  Watch 
out  for  dodging." 

He  received  two  taps  and  sighed  relievedly ;  then  as  -his 
mother  arose  to  bring  the  coffee-pot  from  the  stove  he  felt 
three  quick  and  distinct  pressures  and  ducked  his  head 
just  in  time  to  miss  a  swinging,  open-handed  slap  from 
Mrs.  Wilson's  heavy  hand. 

Anson,  sitting  slit-eyed  and  gleeful  close  beside  him, 
received  the  slap  with  a  force  that  knocked  his  face  into 
his  porridge  bowl. 

As  Mrs.  Wilson  recovered  her  balance  and  squared  away 
for  a  surer  stroke,  Croaker  swooped  in  through  the  open 
door  and,  with  many  muffled  eroaks,  alighted  in  the  center 
of  the  table.  In  his  black  beak  he  held  another  glittering 
gold  piece,  which  he  dropped  in  front  of  Mrs.  Wilson's 
plate.  Then  picking  up  a  fat  doughnut  from  the  platter 
he  hopped  to  the  motto  God  Bless  Our  Home  and  perching 
himself  on  its  gilt  frame  proceeded  to  appease  his  morning's 
hunger. 

Silence  fell  upon  the  family  after  the  first  gasp  of  sur- 
prise at  sight  of  the  gold  piece.  Even  Anson  checked  his 
wailing  to  sit  with  his  pale  eyes  wider  open  than  ever  they 
had  been  before  and  it  was  he  who  broke  the  silence  which 
had  fallen  —  broke  it  with  a  husky,  fear-ridden  voice  as 
he  cried: 

"  Fer  goodness  sake,  Ma,  don't  touch  that  gold!  It's 
bewitched,  I  tell  you!  " 

His  mother  glared  at  him.  "  Humph!  "  she  snorted, 
"  you're  bewitched  yourself,  you  poor  coward  you!  Now 
then,  another  word  out  o'  you  —  and  you  get  the  strap. 
Ain't  I  told  you,  Anson,  time  and  ag'in,  that  this  dear 
crow  has  found  old  Scroggie'e  pile?  You  git  up  from  this 


232  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

table  to  once;  go  out  and  stay  within  callin'  distance;  111 
want  you  back  here  presently." 

She  picked  rap  the  gold  piece  and,  fondling  it  lovingly, 
waited  until  Anson  had  passed  outside.  Then  with  char- 
acteristic deliberation  she  placed  it  safely  away  beneath 
her  saucer,  thereby  signifying  that  the  incident  was  elosed 
for  the  time  being. 

It  was  not  until  Billy  had  finished  his  breakfast  and  was 
about  to  slip  quietly  out  that  his  mother  spoke  again. 
Then  fixing  him  with  cold,  accusing  eyes,  she  said:  "  I 
want  'a  know  what  you  had  to  do  with  searin'  the  new 
teacher  so  he  won't  never  come  back  to  the  Valley  School 
ag'in,  Willium." 

Billy,  who  had  anticipated  what  was  coming,  gave  a  well- 
feigned  start. 

"  Why,  Ma,"  he  cried,  in  amazement,  "  you  don't  mean 
to  say  he's  gone?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  gone  an'  I  s'pose  you're  satisfied,  y&u  and 
your  outlaw  companions  in  crime.  Cobin  Keeler  stopped 
by  this  mornin'  and  he  told  us  the  teacher  left  hig  writ' 
resign  in  his  hands.  He  declares  he  won't  risk  his  life 
among  a  lot  of  young  savages." 

"  I  think  that  Mr.  Johnston  went  a  little  too  far  tkere," 
Wilson  ventured. 

"  You  shet  right  up,  Tom!  "  commanded  his  wife. 
"  Ain't  it  nuthin'  to  you  that  your  son  grows  up  wild  and 
uneddicated?  " 

"  But  he  had  no  right  to  oall  us  savages,  Ma,"  pro- 
tested Billy. 

"  Oh,  hadn't  he  then!  Well,  who  up  and  deliberately 
stole  his  horse,  I'd  like  to  know?  "  Mrs.  Wilson  held  her 
breath  waiting  for  the  answer. 

"  Nobody  stole  his  horsa,"  replied  Billy.     "  Tke  poor 


233 

thing  was  so  lean  an '  hungry  that  it  weaved  when  it  walked ; 
all  we  did  was  sneak  it  out  o'  the  school-yard  an'  hide  it 
where  there  was  good  pasture." 

"  Well,  maybe  that  ain't  stealin'  it,  but  if  it  ain't  what 
would  you  call  it,  Willium?  " 

"  I'd  call  it  bein'  kind  to  dumb  animals,"  spoke  up  Wil- 
son, his  eyes  meeting  the  angry  ones  of  his  wife. 

"  Listen,  Ma,"  said  Billy  gently.  "  That  old  Johnston 
was  awful  mean  to  us  kids,  there's  no  mistake  about  that. 
He  whipped  us  fer  nothin',  an'  what's  worse,  he  was 
always  sneerin'  at  us  fer  being  low-born  an'  ignorant,  an' 
that  meant  sayin'  things  ag'in  our  folks.  But  we  was 
willin'  to  stand  all  that,  cause  we'd  promised  Teacher  Stan- 
hope that  we'd  do  our  best  to  put  up  with  the  teacher  in 
his  place.  But,  Ma,  if  you  could  a'  seen  that  poor  ol' 
horse,  so  starved  that  every  rib  showed  like  the  ridges  in 
your  wash-board,  lookin*  over  that  school-yard  fence  at 
the  long  grass  an'  beggin'  with  his  hungry  eyes  fer  jest 
a  bite— " 

Billy  paused  and  rolled  a  bread  crumb.  When  he  looked 
up  his  eyes  were  dark.  "  Anse  has  told  you  that  it  was 
me  who  sneaked  him  out  o'  the  yard,  an'  led  him  away 
where  he  could  feed  an'  rest  an'  get  the  sores  made  by  the 
hard  saddle  an'  hickory  healed,  an'  Anse  didn't  lie  fer 
once.  I  did  do  it,  an'  I'd  do  it  ag'in. 

"  What's  more,  Ma,  that  ol'  horse  is  goin'  to  stay  right 
where  he  is,  belly-deep  in  clover,  till  it  gets  so  cold  we'll 
have  to  stable  him.  Then  he's  goin'  to  have  all  the  good 
hay  an'  oats  he  wants." 

Mrs.  Wilson  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  "  You  don't 
mean  that  havin'  took  him  you  had  any  thoughts  of  keepin' 
him,  Willium?  "  she  managed  to  say. 

"  Yes,  Ma'am;  I  mean  jest  that.    You  see,  Ma,  that  ol' 


234  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

horse  don't  belong  to  Teacher  Johnston  any  more.  We 
bought  him." 

"  Bought  him!  "  exclaimed  man  and  woman  in  a  breath. 

Billy  nodded.  "  Me  an'  Jim  Scroggie  bought  him  from 
Mr.  Johnston,  an'  we  got  a  receipt  provin'  pur  ownership, 
too,  you  bet.  This  is  how  we  did  it.  'Long  'bout  the 
second  er  third  day  after  ol'  Thomas  disappeared  me  an' 
Jim  met  up  with  Johnston  walkin'  home  from  school  to 
Fairfield  where  he  boards.  Jim  had  fifty  dollars,  all  his 
own,  an'  we'd  planned  jest  what  we'd  say  to  the  teacher. 

"  First  off  when  he  sees  us,  he  asks  us  if  we'd  happened 
to  find  any  tracks  of  his  horse.  It  was  funny  to  see  his 
snakey  eyes  callin'  us  liars  at  every  polite  word  we  said  to 
him.  Finally  he  comes  right  out  flat-footed  an'  tells  us 
that  he  knows  we  had  somethin'  to  do  with  ol'  Thomas 
wanderin'  off,  an'  he  says  he's  goin'  to  make  our  fathers 
pay  fer  his  loss." 

"  Course  we  got  real  scared  then  —  leastwise  Johnston 
thought  we  was  —  an'  Jim  he  ups  an'  tells  him  that  we 
f ergot  to  latch  the  gate  an'  let  the  horse  out.  Then  John- 
ston got  real  mean  —  meaner  than  I  ever  see  him  get,  an' 
that's  sayin'  quite  a  lot.  He  said  he  would  turn  back  with 
us  an*  interview  —  that's  the  word  he  used,  whatever  it 
means  —  interview  our  fathers. 

"  Then  Jim  he  begged  him  not  to  do  that.  '  Well  pay 
yon  whatever 's  right  fer  your  horse,  sir,'  he  says,  but 
Johnston  jest  snorted.  '  Where  would  you  get  fifty  dol- 
lars! '  he  says,  but  Jim,  he  nudged  me  to  keep  quiet,  an' 
eaid:  '  I've  got  fifty  dollars  of  my  very  own,  right  here, 
sir.  We'll  buy  your  horse  an'  take  chances  on  findin' 
him,  if  you'll  sell  him  to  us.' 

"  '  Gimme  the  money,9  says  Johnston. 

"  So  we  give  him  the  money  but  we  made  him  give  us 


TEACHER  JOHNSTON  RESIGNS  235 

what  Jim  calls  a  regular  bill  o'  sale  receipt  fer  it.  An'  so, 
you  see,  Ma,  we've  got  Mr.  Johnston  there,  an'  he  won't 
ever  lay  the  rod  on  poor  ol'  Thomas  no  more." 

Mrs.  Wilson,  arms  folded  on  the  white  table-cloth,  was 
gazing  out  of  the  window  now.  Perhaps  she  saw  a  poor 
old  horse,  belly  deep  in  luscious  grass,  making  up  for  the 
fasts  of  hard  and  stern  days,  mercifully  behind  it  forever 
now  and  enjoying  life  to  the  full  —  the  new  life  which 
Billy  had  helped  to  purchase. 

At  any  rate,  her  voice  had  lost  much  of  its  harshness  as 
she  asked:  "  But  what  about  the  wild  animal  that  broke 
into  the  school  an'  tore  the  teacher's  clothes  fair  off  his 
back  an'  chased  him  up  the  road?  That's  the  thing  that 
scared  him  so  he  quit  the  school  ferever.  Now,  Willium, 
what  did  you  have  to  do  with  that*  " 

Billy  sat  silent,  striving  to  keep  hack  the  grin  that  would 
come  in  spite  of  him.  "Wilson,  v^n  pretext  of  getting  hia 
pipe,  got  up  and  left  the  room. 

' '  I  'm  waitin ',  Willium. ' ' 

"  Well,  Ma,  you  see  ol'  Ringdo  got  out  of  his  cage 
yesterday  mornin'.  I've  kept  him  shut  up  a  lot  an'  what 
with  feedin'  on  meat  an'  rich  stuff  that  old  swamp  coon 
was  playfuller  than  usual,  I  guess.  It  seems  Teacher 
Johnston  had  took  a  notion  to  get  down  to  the  school  at 
eight  o'clock  instead  of  nine  as  he  usually  does.  When 
Teacher  Stanhope  taught  school  Ringdo  used  t'  often  go 
there  an'  get  apples  an'  stuff  that  the  teacher  saved  for 
him.  Yesterday  when  he  got  loose  he  must've  been  lone- 
some fer  Mr.  Stanhope,  an'  he  went  to  the  school.  He  got 
in  an'  found  Johnston  alone,  I  guess,  an'  maybe  tried  to 
get  friendly.  Mr.  Johnston  must  have  kicked  him  er  hit 
him.  All  I  know  about  it  is  what  I  seen  fer  myself. 

"  I  was  goin'  down  the  path  to  the  road,  Anse  with  me, 


236  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

when  the  teacher  went  past,  runnin'  fer  all  he  was  worth. 
Come  to  think  of  it  his  ooat  had  been  clawed  some,  an'  I 
remember  now  his  face  was  bleedin*  from  a  scratch  er  two. 
He  didn't  see  us  an'  he  didn't  stop.  He  kept  right  on 
goin'.  Anse  an'  me  went  on  to  the  school,  an*  there  we 
found  Ringdo  jest  finishin'  the  teacher's  lunch.  I  brought 
him  back  an*  put  him  in  his  cage.  That's  all,  Ma,  an'  it's 
every  blessed  word  true." 

Mrs.  Wilson  remained  thoughtful.  Billy,  watching  her 
with  furtive  speculation,  hoped  from  the  relaxing  lines  in 
her  brow  that  all  was  well  with  the  world  once  more,  Hope 
beoame  an  assurance  with  her  next  words. 

"  You  kin  have  that  Jim  Scroggie  over  to  supper  tonight, 
Willium,  if  you  want  to." 

Billy's  heart  jumped  with  joy.  He  wamted  to  hug  his 
mother,  but  restrained  the  desire  and  sat  gazing  pensively 
at  his  plate. 

"  What's  the  matter,  don't  yon  want  him?  "  asked  his 
mother.  "  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  to  have  Mm,  seein's 
you're  such  cronies  an'  there  must  be  some  good  in  him  in 
spite  of  his  looks.  I  aould  have  them  partridges  that  Joe 
Soraff  sent  over  roasted  with  bacon  strips  across  'em,  an* 
baked  potatoes,  an'  maybe  I  might  boil  an  apple  dumplin'." 

Billy  sighed.  "  That's  awful  good  of  yeu,  Ma,  an'  I 
sure  would  like  to  have  Jim  over  to  supper,  but  he's  so 
fond  of  his  sister  he  won't  go  anywheres  without  ker,  you 
sea." 

"  Well,"  flared  his  mother,  "  can't  he  fetch  her  along 
with  him,  if  he  wants  to?  What's  to  tiader  him  from 
fetohin.'  her?  She's  a  sweet  little  thing  an'  I'd  be  proud 
to  have  her." 

Billy  closed  Ids  eyes  and  took  tight  hold  of  his  chair  seal 
He  knew  that  if  he  did  not  summon  all  his  self  restraint 


TEACHER  JOHNSTON  RESIGNS  237 

ke  would  surely  spoil  all  he  had  accomplished  through 
strategy.  He  longed  to  swoop  down  on  his  mother  and 
hug  her,  slap  her  on  the  back  and  yell  in  her  ear  that  she 
was  a  brick.  But  experience  had  taught  him  caution.  And 
besides,  Billy  reasoned,  there  was  still  something  more  to 
be  accomplished. 

"  I  say  we  kin  have  Louie  over,  too,  Willium,"  Mrs. 
Wilson  suggested  onoe  again. 

"  Yep,  we  could  do  that,  I  s'pose,"  said  Billy,  "  only 
—  "  He  frowned  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  guess  we  best 
not  ask  either  of  'em,  Ma.  Maurice  might  hear  of  it,  an' 
wonder  why  he  wa'n't  asked  too.  He's  awful  funny  that 
way,  you  know." 

"  Why,  sakes  alive!  "  cried  his  mother,  "  I  never  give 
Maurice  a  thought.  O'  course  we'll  have  him,  too.  An' 
if  there  happens  to  be  anybody  else  you'd  like,  you  best 
say  so  now,  Willium." 

"I'd  awful  like  to  have  Harry  O'Dule,  too." 

Mrs.  Wilson  caught  her  breath,  but  whatever  objections 
her  mind  raised  against  the  last  named  remained  unuttered. 
All  she  said  was.  "  This  is  your  party,  Willium.  Any- 
body else,  now?  " 

"  Elgin  Scraff,"  spoke  up  Billy,  promptly. 

Mrs.  Wilson  looked  out  of  the  window  and  considered. 
"  Let's  see.  That  leaves  little  Louie  the  only  girl  among 
all  of  you  boys,  so  we'll  jest  have  te  have  another  girl  cr 
two.  How'd  you  like  to  have  Ann  Spencer  and  Phoebe 
Scraff?  " 

Billy  a^p-eed  with  delight. 

Mrs,  Wilson  pushed  back  her  •hair  amd  arose  from  the 
table.  "  Now,  then,  Williura,  you  get  along  out.  I've  got 
a  whole  lot  to  do  afore  supper-time,  a«d  I  guess  maybe 
you  best  run  across  and  ask  Mrs.  Keeler  to  come  orer  and 


238  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

help  me.  You  kin  go  'round  and  give  the  invites  to  your 
friends." 

She  picked  up  the  saucer  and  stood  looking  down  at  the 
gold  piece  which  Croaker  had  brought  in.  "I  don't 
s 'pose  there's  a  particle  of  use  keepin'  an  eye  on  that 
crow?  "  she  asked. 

"  Haven't  I  been  keepin'  an  eye  on  him?  "  cried  Billy, 
"  an'  you  see  what  he  does.  Jest  as  soon  as  I  turn  my 
back  he  plays  sharp.  I've  done  my  best  to  get  him  to 
show  me  where  he  finds  that  gold,  but  he  won't  do  it 
But  I'll  catch  him  yet.  I'll  jest  run  along  an'  see  what 
he's  at  now;  he's  so  quiet  I  know  he's  into  some  mischief." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  bounded  outside.  He  found 
Croaker  seated  on  the  chicken  yard  fence,  gravely  sur- 
veying his  ancient  and  mortal  enemy,  the  old  game  cock, 
and  whispering  guttural  insults  that  fairly  made  the 
rooster  bristle  with  anger. 

Billy  shook  his  fist  at  the  crow.  "  You  old  beggar,"  he 
said  fondly,  "  if  that  rooster  was  wise  he'd  go  out  with 
the  rest  of  the  chickens  an'  scratch  his  breakfast,  'stead' o' 
quarrelin '  with  you.  He  don 't  know  that  you  're  doin '  your 
best  to  starve  him  to  death." 

Billy  knew  that  Croaker  would  hang  elose  to  his  enemy 
all  morning  and  feeling  reasonably  sure  that  no  further 
trips  to  the  hidden  treasure  would  be  made  during  his 
absence  on  his  mother's  errand  he  started  for  Keeler'g.  At 
the  road  gate  he  met  Cobin  coming  in,  a  pitchfork  on  his 
shoulder.  Keeler  and  Billy's  father  "changed  works" 
during  wheat  and  corn  harvest,  and  the  former  was  coming 
over  to  help  haul  in  fodder. 

1 '  Ho,  Billy !  "  he  boomed,  gripping  the  lad 's  arm  in  his 
huge  hand,  "  you  won't  steal  Maurice  away  from  the  work 
I've  set  him  to  do  this  mornin',  I'll  be  bound.  Baok  to  the 


TEACHER  JOHNSTON  RESIGNS  239 

house  you  eome  with  me,  young  man.  I  want  Maurice  to 
finish  his  job." 

"  I  don't  want  Maurice,"  Billy  hastened  to  explain. 
"  Ma  wants  Missus  Keeler  to  come  over  an'  give  her  a  hand, 
so  I'm  on  my  way  to  tell  her.  Honest,  Mr.  Keeler,  that's 
right." 

"  By  Jlmminy,  you've  fooled  me  so  many  times,  Billy,  I 
have  an  idea  you  might  jest  do  it  ag'in."  Mr.  Keeler 's 
grip  tightened,  and  his  smile  broadened.  "  Cross  your 
heart,  it's  right?  " 

"  Yep,  cross  my  heart,  an'  spit  on  my  thumb,"  grinned 
Billy. 

Keeler 's  roaring  laugh  might  have  been  heard  half  a 
mile  away.  "  Well,  along  you  go,"  he  shouted,  lifting 
Billy  bodily  over  the  gate.  "  You'll  find  Ma  deefer  than 
usual  on  account  of  a  cold  in  the  head,  so  talk  real  close 
and  loud  to  her." 

Billy  found  Mrs.  Keeler  peeling  onions  in  the  cook-house 
and  after  some  trouble  made  her  understand  what  was 
wanted.  While  she  was  shedding  her  apron  and  hunting 
for  her  hat  he  went  outside.  Maurice's  school-books  and! 
slate  lay  on  the  bench  beneath  the  hop  vine.  Billy  grinned 
as  his  eyes  fell  on  them.  He  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
gate-post  and  searched  the  surrounding  fields  for  his  chum, 
locating  him  finally  down  near  the  ditch,  a  lonely  and 
pathetic  figure  seated  on  a  little  knoll,  methodically  topping 
mangles  with  a  sickle.  His  back  was  toward  Billy  and  it 
took  all  tlie  latter 's  self  restraint  to  refrain  from  giving 
the  rally  call,  but  he  remembered  what  he  had  promised 
Maurice's  father.  So  he  slid  down  from  the  post  and 
picking  up  the  slate,  produced  a  stub  of  slate-pencil  from 
a  pocket  and  wrote  a  message  in  symbols.  Then  on  the 
other  sid«  of  the  slate  he  duplicated  the  message,  adding 


240 


A  SON  OF  COURAGE 


the  necessary  key  to  the  code.    This  was  the  message  that 
Billy  wrote: 


When  Mrs.  Keeler  «ame  out,  laden  witk  bake-pans  and 
ether  kitohen  utensils,  Billy  led  her  carefully  across  the 
stubble  by  a  new  route,  nor  did  she  dream  his  motive  in 
so  doing  was  to  keep  the  house  between  them  and  the  lone- 
some mangle-topper  in  the  ralley. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ME.  HINTER  PROVES  A  PUZZLE 

October's  second  morning  dawned  sullen  and  grey,  with 
a  chill  wind  banking  slate-hued  clouds  in  the  sky.  Deacon 
Ringold,  taking  the  short  cut  across  the  stubble-fields  to 
Wilson's,  shivered  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  black  lines 
his  feet  had  cut  through  the  crisp  white  frost,  and  decided 
to  put  on  his  woolen  underclothes  right  away.  The  deacon 
had  important  and  disturbing  news  to  convey  to  his  neigh- 
bor and  had  started  out  early  to  seek  his  counsel. 

As  he  climbed  the  rail  fence  his  eyes  swept  the  Settle- 
ment below,  resting  at  length  on  the  jail-like  wall  in  the 
edge  of  the  Scroggie  timber,  above  which  the  tall  derrick 
protruded  like  a  white,  scarred  face.  ' '  Humph !  "  he  mused, 
"Scroggie  and  Hinter  must  either  have  struck  water,  or 
give  up.  Their  rig's  quiet  after  chuggin'  away  day  and 
night  for  weeks. ' ' 

He  glanced  in  the  opposite  direction  to  the  blue  smoke 
rising  above  the  Wilson  cedars.  Then,  as  he  prepared  to 
climb  down,  he  apparently  changed  his  mind,  for  instead 
of  taking  the  path  to  Tom  Wilson's  he  walked  briskly 
down  toward  the  walled  in  derrick.  Reaching  it  he  paused 
and  an  exclamation  of  surprise  escaped  him.  On  the  door 
of  the  wall  an  iron  padlock  had  been  fastened.  There  was 
no  sign  of  human  life  about  the  place  but  within  the  walls 
could  be  heard  the  fierce  growling  of  dogs.  Ringold 
backed  away  and  eyed  the  tall  derrick.  There  was  mystery 
here  and  he  didn't  relish  mysteries.  And  there  was  a 

241 


242  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

pungent,  salty  smell  about  the  place — the  smell  that  oily 
machinery  gives  off  when  put  under  intense  heat. 

The  deacon  was  curious  to  learn  what  caused  that  smell. 
He  approached  a  little  closer  to  the  walls  and  scrutinized 
the  ground  carefully.  It  was  stained  with  black  patches 
of  something  and  he  saw  that  the  planks  of  the  wall  and 
the  portion  of  the  derrick  showing  above  it  also  were  stained 
a  greenish-black.  He  ran  a  finger  over  a  greasy  splash  and 
sniffed.  Then  he  backed  away  slowly,  now  nodding  his 
head.  He  knew  what  had  happened,  just  as  well  as  though 
he  had  seen  it.  The  careless  drillers  had  exploded  a  bar- 
rel of  coal-oil,  and  perhaps  wrecked  the  drill.  Yes,  noth- 
ing surer.  That  had  been  the  explosion  which  shook  the 
windows  of  his  home  and  awoke  him  several  nights  ago. 
Keeler  and  Wilson  had  heard  it  too.  Well,  it  was  too  bad 
after  all  the  trouble  and  expense  Scroggie  had  gone  to  to 
find  water  for  the  Settlement. 

So  the  deacon  went  thoughtfully  on  his  way  to  Wilson's. 
He  found  Tom  Wilson  breakfasting  alone.  To  the  deacon's 
look  of  surprise  his  neighbor  vouchsafed  the  information 
that  a  glad  and  glorious  band  of  young  people  had  been 
"  cuttin'  up  "  nearly  all  night  there,  and  the  boys  and 
Ma  were  sleepin'  in,  like. 

Eingold  hung  his  hat  on  the  stovepoker  and  got  down 
to  business  at  once.  "  Say,  Tom,  I've  had  an  offer  for  my 
back  hundred.  Don' know  whether  to  sell  or  not.  Thought 
I'd  like  to  hear  what  you'd  advise." 

Wilson  drained  his  cup  and  set  it  down  in  the  saucer, 
methodically.  The  news  did  not  seem  to  surprise  him. 
'  *  Who  made  the  offer,  Hinter  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  deacon  started.    "  Yes,  did  he  tell  you  about  it?  " 

"  No,"  Wilson  pushed  back  his  chair  and  felt  for  his 
pipe,  "  but  he  seems  to  want  to  own  the  whole  Settlement. 


MB.  HINTER  PROVES  A  PUZZLE  243 

He  made  me  an  offer  for  my  place  and  he  tried  to  buy 
Cobin  Keeler's  farm,  too,  so  Cobin  says." 

"  When,  Tom,  when?  "  asked  Ringold,  eagerly. 

"  Last  night.  At  least  that's  when  he  made  me  my  offer 
an'  he  must  have  gone  across  to  Cobin 's  after  he  left  me. 
Cobin  jest  left  here  not  ten  minutes  ago.  He  come  over 
to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

The  deacon  sat  silent,  thinking.  "  What's  their  game, 
Tom?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  His  game  you  mean." 

"No,  I  don't  either,  I  mean  his  and  Scroggie's  game; 
of  course  Scroggie's  behind  him." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Wilson,  "  I  guess  maybe  he  is.  But, 
Deacon,  I  don't  know  what  their  game  is;  wish  I  did." 

"  Did  you  talk  sell,  Tom?  "  asked  Ringold,  anxiously. 

"  No  sir,"  his  neighbor  answered  promptly,  "  I  should 
say  not." 

"  And  Cobin  —  he  ain't  any  head  at  all,  poor  Cobin  — 
did  he  talk  sell?  " 

Wilson  laughed.  '  *  Not  Cobin.  He 's  quite  satisfied  with 
his  little  farm,  I  guess.  No,  Hinter  didn't  get  much  satis- 
faction from  either  of  us." 

The  deacon  jumped  up  and  reached  for  his  hat.  "  Tom, 
I'm  goin'  to  saddle  your  roan  and  go  ask  a  few  questions 
of  the  other  farmers,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  Good  idea,"  agreed  his  neighbor.  "  Here,  you  best 
set  down  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee  and  I'll  saddle  him, 
myself." 

"  No  coffee,  thanks;  had  breakfast;  I'll  go  'long  with 
you.  Oh,  by  the  way,  Tom,  I  know  now  what  caused  that 
explosion  t'other  night,"  and  the  deacon  proceeded  to  re- 
late his  investigation  of  the  walled-in  well. 

Wilson  listened  interestedly,  until  Ringold  was  through. 


244  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  Well,  they've  been  careful  enough  about  hidin*  their 
good  work,  at  any  rate,"  he  said.  "  You'd  think  they  had 
somethin'  mighty  precious  inside  them  walls  the  way 
they've  guarded  it;  but  I'm  sorry  if  they've  met  with  an 
accident,"  he  added.  "  Hinter  did  really  seem  anxious  to 
get  water." 

They  went  out  to  the  stable  and  Wilson  saddled  the 
roan.  "  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so,"  called  the  deacon 
as  he  rode  away. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Wilson  was  just  finishing 
the  morning's  milking,  when  the  deacon  returned.  "  No 
other  offers,  Tom,"  he  said.  "  Looks  as  though  they  were 
after  this  particular  strip  of  territory.  Anyhow  it's 
agreed  that  none  of  us  will  sell  or  rent  without  eonsultin' 
the  others,  so  I  guess  we  can  wait  on  Hinter 's  game  all 
right." 

"  Didn't  see  Seraff,  did  you?  "  asked  Wilson. 

"  No,  I  didn't.  Joe  had  left  for  Bridgetown  to  bring  in 
a  couple  of  duck-hunters  to  old  man  Swanson'g.  Cleve- 
landers,  they  are,  so  I  didn't  see  him." 

"I'm  afraid  Joe  11  sell,  if  he  gets  a  good  offer,"  re- 
flected Wilson. 

"  No,  he'll  stick  with  the  rest  of  us,"  cried  Ringold, 
emphatically,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  It's  just  like  his 
contrariness  to  do  the  very  thing  the  others  won't  do,  but 
let  me  tell  you  somethin'.  The  very  minute  he  makes  a 
move  I  put  the  screws  on  him  tight.  Let  him  so  much  as 
whisper  *  sell '  an'  he'll  pay  me  every  cent  he  owes  me, 
with  interest.  No,  Tom,  we  needn't  feel  scarey  about  Joe 
Scraff." 

"  Well,"  laughed  Wilson,  "if  anybody  kin  make  Joe 
toe  the  scratch  it's  you,  Deacon.  Didn't  see  anythin'  of 
Hinter  on  your  rounds,  did  you?  " 


MR.  HINTER  PROVES  A  PUZZLE  245 

"  No,  but  I  met  Scroggie.  That  feller  improves  on 
acquaintance,  Tom,  he  does  so!  He  ain't  half  bad  after 
you  get  to  know  him.  He  seems  to  want  to  be  neighborly, 
and  while  I  think  he's  backing  Hinter  in  some  way  I've 
an  idea  he's  watching  him  pretty  close." 

"  Say  anythin'  to  him  about  Hinter 's  offer  to  buy?  " 

"  Nary  a  word  but  I  asked  him  what  he  intended  to  do 
with  the  Scroggie  hardwoods.  He  told  me  that  he  had 
sold  it  to  a  lumber  company.  He  says  there'll  be  a  big 
camp  of  cutters  and  sawyers  down  here  this  winter.  I 
said  I  supposed  he'd  be  goin'  back  to  the  States  jest  as 
soon  as  he  got  things  cleared  up  here,  an'  you  ought  to 
see  the  queer  look  he  gave  me. 

"  '  I'm  not  sure  that  I'll  go  back  to  the  States,'  he 
said,  '  it  all  depends ;  besides, '  says  he,  '  my  boy  and  girl 
like  this  place  and  the  people  and  I  reckon  I  Ve  got  enough 
money  to  live  wherever  I  like.' 

"  Well,  111  put  the  roan  in  the  stable,  Tom;  then  I'll 
mosey  'cross  home  and  get  my  men  at  the  cider-makin '. 
A  few  frosts  like  last  night's,  an'  all  the  apples  will  be 
soured.  See  you  tonight  at  prayer-meetin'." 

Wilson  picked  up  his  pails  and  carried  them  to  the 
fence.  Seeing  Billy  emerge  from  the  house  he  placed 
them  on  the  top  step  of  the  stile  and  waited. 

"  Have  a  good  time  last  night?  "  he  asked. 

Billy  grinned,  "  You  bet!  I  tell  you  Ma  kin  certainly 
roast  partridge  fine,  an'  say,  can't  old  Harry  play  the 
dandiest  tune  you  ever  heard?  Lou  says  he  puts  all  the 
songs  of  the  wood-birds  into  one  sweet  warble." 

"  I  guess  whatever  Lou  says  is  jest  about  right,  eh?  " 

Billy  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  but  his  grey  eyes 
met  his  father's  steadily.  "  Yep,"  he  answered,  "  Jest 
about  right." 


246  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Billy  lifted  the  pails  and  turned  up  the  path. 

"  Where  have  you  put  that  man-eatin'  swamp  coont  " 
asked  his  father  as  he  followed.  "  I  believe  he's  gettin' 
cross.  You'll  have  to  watch  him." 

"  Oh,  Kingdo  ain't  cross,"  laughed  Billy,  "  he's  only 
playful.  He's  over  to  Teacher  Stanhope's.  He's  so  fond 
of  the  teacher  he  won't  stay  away  from  him." 

Billy  set  the  pails  down  on  the  block  outside  the  milk- 
house  and  rubbed  his  cheek  against  Croaker,  who  had  just 
alighted  on  his  shoulder.  "  Are  you  goin'  to  show  me 
where  you  found  the  gold-pieces,  Croaker?  "  he  asked, 
stroking  the  ruffled  plumage  smooth. 

Croaker  shocked  his  head  and  hopped  to  the  ground. 
He  had  grown  tired  of  having  Billy  put  that  question  to 
him.  With  many  throaty  and  indignant  mutterings  he 
pigeontoed  across  the  yard,  not  even  deigning  to  glance 
back  at  the  laughing  man  and  boy. 

"  Pa,"  said  Billy,  "  would  you  mind  comin'  to  the 
woodshed  an'  lookin'  over  my  open  water  decoys.  I've 
been  restringin'  'em,  an'  weightin'  the  canvasbacks  an' 
redheads,  an'  givin'  the  bluebills  a  fresh  coat  o'  paint. 
I'd  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  my  job." 

"  I  heard  you  and  Prank  Stanhope  arrangin'  to  go  after 
bay  ducks  t'other  day,"  said  Wilson  as  he  followed  Billy 
into  the  shed. 

* '  Yep,  we  're  goin '  tomorrow  if  this  weather  holds.  I  '11 
go  over  this  afternoon  to  fix  up  a  hide  on  Mud  point." 

"  You  seem  to  have  managed  the  strmgin'  all  right," 
said  the  father,  examining  the  wooden  ducks  on  the  work 
bench.  ' '  A  little  too  much  white  on  the  bluebills,  I  'd  say. ' ' 

"  That's  jest  what  I  thought,"  said  Billy.  "Ill  darken 
it  some." 

Wilson  leaned  against  the  bench  and  waited.    He  knew 


MR.  HINTER  PROVES  A  PUZZLE  247 

that  Billy  kad  brought  him  into  the  shed  to  speak  of  other 
things  than  decoys. 

' '  Pa, ' '  Baid  the  boy,  in  guarded  tones,  ' '  you  best  watch 
that  man  Hinter,  an'  watch  him  close." 

"Why!"  said  Wilson. 

"  Cause  he's  up  to  some  game,  an'  I  know  it.'* 

"  But  what  makes  you  suspicious  of  Hinter?"  asked  his 
father  gravely.  "  Hasn't  he  always  minded  his  own  busi- 
ness and  been  a  law-abidin',  quiet  livin  man?  " 

"  Yep,"  Billy  admitted,  slowly,  "  that's  it.  He's  all 
right  in  lots  of  ways,  but  in  other  ways " 

He  paused.  "  See  here,  Pa,"  he  cried,  "  I  happen  to 
know  one  er  two  things  about  Hinter  that  I  don't  like.  He's 
the  boss  of  at  least  two  bad  men,  an'  I  guess  maybe  there'* 
more  in  the  gang,  too." 

"  And  who  are  these  two  men?    What  have  they  done?  " 

"  They're  the  two  who've  been  workin'  his  drillin'  rig; 
an'  they're  the  men  that  robbed  the  Twin  Oaks  store." 

"  How  do  you  know  this?  "  Wilson  asked  sharply. 

"  I  know  it  'cause  Maurice  an'  me  saw  'em  on  the  very 
night  the  store  was  robbed,  out  in  Scroggie's  woods.  They 
had  a  lantern.  We  heard  'em  speak  about  hidin*  some- 
thin'  in  the  ha'nted  house." 

"  And  that's  where  Harry  found  the  stolen  stuff, " 
mused  Wilson.  "  What  else,  Billy?  " 

"  It  was  them  two  who  brought  Hinter 's  drillin '-rig 
'cross  the  lake  in  a  schooner.  I  saw  'em  the  day  they 
teamed  it  in.  I  knowed  'em  both  an'  Pa,  I  overheard  'em 
talkin'  'bout  hidin'  the  stolen  stuff  in  the  ha'nted  house." 

"  Have  you  told  anybody  else  about  this  besides  me, 
Billy?" 

"  No,"  answered  Billy,  promptly,  "  not  even  Teacher 
Stanhope." 


248  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Wilson  looked  relieved.  "  I  can't  make  head  er  tail 
of  it,"  he  said,  frowning.  "  I  can't  think  that  Hinter  is 
behind  the  men  in  any  deviltry." 

"  His  name  ain't  Hinter,"  said  Billy.    "It's  Jacobs." 

"  What?  " 

"It's  Jacobs.  Listen,  Pa,  I'll  tell  you  how  I  know. 
Anse,  you  remember,  was  sort  of  helper  with  them  drill- 
ers till  he  got  askin'  too  many  questions  an'  they  fired 
him.  Well,  all  he  asked  'em,  /  put  Tiim  up  to  ask.  Anse 
was  always  a  mighty  good  listener  an'  he  often  heard 
these  two,  Jack  and  Tom,  speak  of  Jacobs  an'  call  him 
boss.  An'  one  day  when  Hinter  comes  over,  Anse  heard 
one  of  'em  call  him  Jacobs,  an'  Hinter  was  awful  mad 
about  it." 

"  Well!  "  was  all  Wilson  could  say,  and  he  repeated 
it  to  himself  several  times,  dazedly. 

Billy  was -watching  him  closely.  "  Pa,"  he  said  earn- 
estly, "  there's  something  else  I  might  as  well  let  you 
know  while  I'm  about  it.  This  man  Hinter  owns  a 
schooner,  er  leastways  is  boss  of  one,  an'  it  was  her 
brought  them  drillin'  rigs  'cross  the  lake.  The  boat's 
been  layin'  along  the  Point,  a  mile  out  from  shore  fer 
more'n  a  month  now,  an'  Hinter  has  been  keepin'  in 
touch  with  her  right  along." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  this?  "  asked  Wilson  in 
amazement.  Billy  hesitated  before  answering.  "  I  know 
it,"  he  said,  "  'cause  every  night  that  he  rides  to  the 
lighthouse  Maurice  an'  me  sail  up  there  an'  sort  o*  hide 
up  till  he  leaves.' 

"But  why,  Billy?  ' 

"  'Cause  he  —  he  wants  Erie,"  said  the  boy,  miserably, 
"  an  she  won't  marry  him.  We've  wondered  why  he 'a 
been  holdin'  the  schooner  close  in.  So  we  been  watchm* 


MR.  HINTER  PROVES  A  PUZZLE  249 

Hinter.  An'  one  night  we  follered  him  down  the  bar 
to  the  pines,  an'  we  seen  him  signal  the  schooner.  He 
built  a  little  fire  on  the  shore. 

"After  a  little  we  saw  a  light  'way  out  on  the  lake.  It 
stayed  where  it  was  an  by  an'  by  we  heard  oars.  A  boat 
landed  an'  a  man  Hinter  called  Cap'n,  came  across  to 
where  he  sat  by  the  fire." 

"And  did  you  hear  any  thin'  of  what  passed  between 
'em,  Billy?  " 

"  Yep,  we  heard  Hinter  say  Scroggie  was  a  headstrong 
fool,  an*  he  wished  he'd  never  had  anythin'  to  do  with 
him;  but  that  he'd  have  to  handle  him  with  gloves  till  he 
got  Lost  Man's  Swamp  away  from  him." 

Wilson  whistled.  "  What  in  the  world  does  he  want 
with  that  swamp,  I  wonder?  "  he  cried. 

He  stood  considering.  "  We'll  just  keep  what  we  know 
to  ourselves  till  we  're  quite  sure, ' '  he  said  at  length.  ' '  What 
d  'ye  say  t  ' ' 

Billy  nodded.  "  That's  what  Trigger  Finger  'ud  do," 
he  said,  "an'  Trigger  Finger,  he  was  always  right,  Pa." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
BILLY   TO   THE   RESCUE 

Nature  had  crooked  a  wooded  arm  about  Bond  Eau 
Bay  so  that  her  tranquillity  seldom  was  disturbed  by  the 
fall  gales  which  piled  the  waters  of  Lake  Erie  high  and 
made  her  a  veritable  death-trap  for  late-sailing  ships.  To 
the  thunder  of  heavy  waves  upon  the  pine-clad  beach  the 
little  bay  slept  sweetly,  while  half  a  league  beyond  the 
bar  a  tempest-torn,  dismasted  schooner  might  be  battered 
to  pieces,  or  a  heavy  freighter,  her  back  broken  by  the 
twisting  seas,  might  sink  to  final  rest.  But  there  were 
times  when  Rond  Eau  awoke  from  her  dreaming  to  gnash 
her  white  teeth  and  throw  her  hissing  challenge  to  man 
to  dare  ride  her  banked-up  seas  in  open  boat.  At  such 
times  only  the  foolish  or  venturesome  listened.  When  the 
gale  swept  in  from  the  East  it  transformed  the  upper 
waters  into  a  seething  cauldron,  while,  plunging  in  the 
nine-mile  sweep  from  the  West,  it  swept  water  at  the 
foot,  frothing  and  turbulent,  across  the  rushlands. 

At  such  times  expert  indeed  must  be  the  hand  that 
guides  the  frail  skiff  through  those  treacherous  seas.  But 
the  slim  punt  which  rounded  Mud  Point  betwixt  the 
darkness  and  the  dawn,  in  the  teeth  of  an  all  night  gale, 
was  propelled  by  one  who  knew  every  whimsical  mood 
of  Rond  Eau.  Now  high  on  frothy  comber,  now  lost 
to  view  between  the  waves,  the  little  craft  beat  onward, 
a  speck  of  driftwood  on  the  angry  waves.  Sullen  day- 
light was  revealing  a  world  of  wind-whipped,  spray- 
drenched  desolation  when  the  punt  at  last  rounded  the 

250 


BILLY  TO  THE  RESCUE  251 

point  and  swept  into  the  comparative  calm  of  the  lee 
shore.  Then  the  rower  shipped  his  oars  and  glanced  at 
his  companion  who  sat  huddled  low  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  the  collar  of  his  shooting  coat  turned  high  about 
his  ears. 

"  Phew!  teacher,  some  pull,  that!  Must  a'  been  half 
an  hour  beatin'  up  from  Levee." 

"  It  seemed  longer  than  that  to  me,  Billy,"  laughed 
Stanhope.  "  Once  or  twice  I  thought  we  were  goners,  but 
you  pulled  the  old  girl  through  nobly." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  put  her  through  a  rougher 
sea,"  said  Billy  as  he  began  placing  the  decoys.  "  We'll 
get  set,  then  we'll  push  into  the  rushes,  hide  our  boat, 
nn'  settle  down  comfortable  in  our  blind.  You'll  find  it 
warm,  an'  snug,  an'  wind-proof  as  a  rat  house,  soon's  I 
get  a  fire  started  in  the  little  stove.  Hello!  "  as  a  brown 
shaggy  head  poked  itself  from  beneath  the  seat  and  a 
cold  nose  touched  his  wrist,  "  did  you  think  I  didn't  know 
you  was  there,  Moll  ?  ' ' 

Moll  whined  and  wagged  her  stub  of  a  tail,  undoubtedly 
sensing  from  her  master's  words  and  manner  that  her 
offense,  in  "  sneakin'  in,"  had  been  pardoned.  Five  min- 
utes later  they  were  seated  snugly  inside  four  walls  of 
tightly  woven  rushes,  the  blind  man's  face  alive  and 
glowing  with  the  joy  of  once  more  feeling  the  moist  kiss 
of  open  water,  his  ears  atuned  for  the  first  whistle  of 
incoming  wings.  Billy  crouched  by  his  side,  gun  in 
hand,  eyes  sweeping  the  lighting  bay. 

Suddenly  the  spaniel's  tail  commenced  beating  a  soft 
tattoo  on  the  rush  floor  and  Billy's  grip  tightened  on  the 
walnut  stock. 

"  How  many?  "  whispered  Stanhope. 

"Five,  bluebill.     Comin'  right  to  us." 


252  A  SON  OF  COUEAGE 

A  moment  later  the  "  swowee  "  of  the  cutting  wings 
sounded,  close  in,  and  the  old  gun  spoke  twice, 

"  Two  down,"  cried  Stanhope.    "  Good  work,  Billy!  " 

Billy  took  his  eyes  from  the  pair  of  dead  ducks,  floating 
shoreward  and  turned  wonderingly  to  his  companion. 

"  Teacher,"  he  said  in  awed  tones,  "  sometimes  I'm  sure 
you  kin  see.  If  you  can't  see  how  do  you  find  out  things 
like  you  do?  How  did  you  know  I  killed  jest  two  ducks?  " 

"  Listened  for  the  splash,"  Stanhope  answered.  "Are 
you  loaded,  Billy?  There's  another  flock  coming." 

"All  ready  but  cappin'.    Now,  where 's  the  flock?  " 

"  Coming  up  from  behind,  so  Moll  says." 

"  Gosh!  "  whispered  Billy.  "  I  should  say  so;  they're 
right  onto  us,"  and  almost  with  the  words  the  old  gun 
roared  again  and  again. 

"  Good!  "  exulted  Stanhope.     "  Three  down,  Billy!  " 

"  Yep,  but  one  dived  an'  is  gettin'  away.  After  him, 
Moll."  The  spaniel,  with  a  joyful  whine,  cleared  the  rush 
wall  and  splashed  into  the  water.  "  Fine!  "  cried  Billy, 
as  he  reloaded,  "  Moll's  goin'  to  bring  him  in." 

"  Wounded  whistlers  aren't  as  hard  to  retrieve  as  red- 
head or  bluebill,"  said  Stanhope. 

"  How  did  you  know  they  was  whistlers?  "  cried  Billy. 

"  By  the  sound  of  their  wings,  of  course,"  laughed  the 
man.  "There,"  as  a  small  duck  flashed  past  the  blind, 
"  that's  a  green-winged  teal,  and  he's  flying  at  the  rate  of 
about  ninety  miles  an  hour. ' ' 

Eastward  the  leaden  clouds  opened  to  let  an  arrow  of 
orange  light  pierce  the  damp  mists  of  dawn;  then  the 
fissure  closed  again  and  tardy  daylight  disclosed  only  a 
dun-colored  waste  of  cowering  rushes  and  tossing  water. 
Far  out  in  the  bay  a  great  flock  of  ducks  arose,  the  beat 
of  their  wings  growing  up  above  the  boom  of  the  wind, 


BILLY  TO  THE  RESCUE  253 

stood  black  against  the  lowering  skies  an  instant,  then 
swept  like  a  gigantic  shadow  close  down  above  the  curling 
water.  Here  and  there  detached  fragments  of  the  flock 
grew  up  and  drifted  shoreward.  A  flock  of  widgeon,  gleam- 
ing snow-white  against  the  clouds  as  they  swerved  in 
toward  tie  decoys,  were  joined  by  a  pair  of  kingly  can- 
vasbacks.  Swiftly  they  approached,  twisted  aside  just  out 
of  range,  and  then  turned  and  came  in  with  wings  set 
against  the  wind. 

Stanhope  heard  the  splash  of  their  bodies,  as  they  lit 
among  the  decoys.  He  wondered  why  Billy  did  not  shoot. 
A  tense  moment  passed  and  still  the  old  gun  gave  no  voice. 
Moll  was  whining  low  and  eagerly.  Then,  suddenly,  there 
arose  the  sound  of  webbed  feet  slapping  water,  strong  wings 
lifted  to  the  wind,  and  Stanhope  knew  that  the  ducks  had 
gone. 

"  Billy!  "  he  cried,  "  why  didn't  you  shoot?  " 

"  I  guess  I  didn't  think  about  it,"  said  the  boy. 
'  There's  a  boat  out  yonder,  an'  she's  havin'  trouble.  I  was 
watchin'  her." 

"A  boat  in  trouble?    Where  is  she?  " 

"  Out  in  the  middle  of  the  bay.  There's  two  men  in 
her;  she  must  be  shippin'  water,  'cause  she's  low  down. 
She's  one  of  Swanson's  boats.  He  ought  'a  know  better 
than  let  a  couple  of  greenies  out  on  that  sea." 

Billy  had  thrown  off  his  shooting-coat  and  was.  climbing 
out  of  the  blind. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  Stanhope. 

"  Goin*  out  to  give  a  hand,"  shouted  Billy.  "  No 
teacher,  you  best  stay  right  here;  you  can't  help  me  any 
an'  I  may  have  to  bring  them  two  shooters  ashore  in  the 
punt." 

His  last  words  were  drowned  in  the  wind.    Already  he 


254  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

was  dragging  the  punt  from  the  reeds.  A  moment  later 
Stanhope  heard  the  dip  of  his  oars  as  he  rounded  the  point 
and  put  the  tiny  craft  into  the  seas  and  his  cheerful  hail, 
"  111  be  back  soon,  teacher." 

With  broadening  day  the  gale  had  strengthened.  Stan- 
hope felt  a  few  stinging  snow-pellets  on  his  face,  as  he 
gazed,  unseeing,  outward  and  waited  with  tense  nerves  for 
the  hail  of  his  young  friend.  Half  an  hour  passed  —  it 
seemed  like  hours  to  the  man  waiting,  hoping,  fearing — 
and  still  Billy  did  not  come.  He  replenished  the  fire  and, 
his  hand  coming  in  contact  with  the  coat  which  Billy  had 
discarded,  he  held  it  on  his  knees,  close  to  the  little  stove. 
Slowly  the  minutes  dragged  past  and  a  cold  dread  of  what 
might  have  happened  grew  in  the  blind  man  'a  heart.  Billy 
had  likely  reached  the  boat  only  in  time  to  see  it  founder 
and  in  striving  to  save  its  exhausted  occupants . 

Unable  to  endure  the  thought  Stanhope  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  lifting  his  arms  high  shouted  with  all  his  strength, 
"Billy,  Billy  boy!" 

"  Ho,  teacher!  "  came  an  answering  voice.  "  We're 
comin'  straight  in  with  the  wind.  I've  got  'em  both." 

Stanhope  sank  back  on  his  box,  his  relaxed  nerves  throb- 
bing and  his  lips  forming  the  words:  "  Thank  God!  " 

A  few  minutes  later  Billy  tumbled  into  the  blind. 
"  Quick,"  he  cried,  as  he  drew  on  his  coat.  "They're 
nigh  done  fer.  We've  gotta  keep  'em  movin*.  Good!  I 
see  you've  heated  the  tea;  I'll  jest  take  it  along.  We'll 
leave  gun  an'  decoys  right  here  with  Moll  to  watch  'em, 
'cause  we  're  likely  to  have  our  hands  full.  Are  you  ready, 
teacher?  " 

"All  set,"  cried  Stanhope.  "  Leave  your  belt  loose  so 
I  can  hang  to  it  and  I'm  with  you.  That's  right.  Who 
were  they,  Billy?  " 


BILLY  TO  THE  RESCUE  255 

"  Couple  of  shooters  from  Cleveland.  One  of  'em's  a 
big,  strong  feller,  an'  he  ain't  as  near  done  up  as  the 
other.  I  started  'em  to  shore  along  the  rush-track. 
They'll  be  all  hunky  so  long  as  they  keep  goin'.  We 
best  get  'em  to  the  nearest  house." 

"  Well,  that's  my  place,"  answered  Stanhope.  "  How 
am  I  navigating,  Billy?  " 

"Fine;  keepin'  up  as  well  as  though  you  saw  right 
where  you're  goin'.  They're  only  a  little  ahead  now." 

As  the  wooded  shore  was  reached  they  came  up  with  the 
rescued  men.  Billy  passed  the  chilled  and  wretched  two 
the  hot  tea  and  after  they  had  drunk  he  and  Stanhope 
took  the  lead  through  the  stumpy  fields. 

Half  an  hour  later,  seated  about  the  roaring  fire  in 
Stanhope's  cottage,  huge  cups  of  hot  coffee  on  their  knees, 
the  venturesome  strangers  seemed  none  the  worse  for  their 
trying  experience.  The  larger  of  the  two,  a  powerfully- 
built  man  with  pleasant  clean  shaven  face  and  keen  blue 
eyes,  turned  now  to  Stanhope. 

"  Where  did  the  boy  go?  "  he  asked.  "  He  must  have 
been  wet  to  the  skin. ' ' 

"  He  went  back  to  take  up  the  decoys  and  bring  in  the 
boats,"  answered  Stanhope.  "  Oh,  Billy's  used  to  rough- 
ing it.  He'll  be  back  directly." 

'  *  By  George !  ' '  cried  the  big  man,  slapping  his  friend 's 
knee.  "  There's  a  boy  for  you,  Doctor.  Why,  sir,"  address- 
ing Stanhope,  "  not  one  youngster  in  a  thousand  could 
have  done  what  he  did.  When  he  came  to  us  our  boat 
was  all  but  swamped.  We  had  given  up.  My  friend  here 
was  utterly  helpless  with  the  cold  and  I  was  little  better. 
And  then  he  came  riding  close  in  like  a  mere  straw  on  the 
waves  and  something  flashed  past  me  and  fell  with  a  bump 
against  our  boat-seat.  'Bale,'  he  screeched,  and  I  picked 


256  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

up  the  can  he  had  thrown  us  and  bale  I  did  for  all  I  was 
worth.  Then  he  came  shooting  back.  '  You  got  to  get  out 
of  that  trough,'  he  shouted.  '  Throw  your  painter  loose, 
BO'S  I  can  grab  it  as  I  pass,  and  I'll  straighten  yonr  bow 
to  take  the  seas. '  ' 

The  speaker  paused,  his  face  aglow.  "  I  managed  to  cast 
that  painter  loose  and  the  boy  caught  it  as  he  shot  past  us. 
Then  I  felt  the  skiff  straighten  and  I  heard  him  shout 
again,  '  Bale!  bale  like  fury!  '  So  I  baled  and  baled  and 
by  and  by  we  shipped  less  water  than  I  managed  to  throw 
out.  All  this  time  that  youngster  was  hauling  us  in  to 
safety.  I  don't  know  who  the  boy  is,  but  let  me  tell  you 
this,  my  friend,  if  I  was  his  daddy  I'd  be  the  proudest 
man  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

His  companion,  a  slight,  stooped  man,  the  sallowness  of 
whose  face  was  accentuated  by  a  short  black  moustache,  who 
had  remained  almost  silent  from  the  time  he  had  entered 
the  house,  looked  up  at  these  words  and  smiled.  "  We 
owe  that  boy  and  this  gentleman  our  lives, ' '  he  said  briefly. 

The  big  man  laid  a  hand  on  Stanhope 's  arm.  ' '  My  good 
friend, ' '  he  said,  ' '  will  you  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
the  grateful  chaps  you  have  helped  save.  This  gentleman 
with  me  is  the  famous  specialist,  Doctor  Cavinalt  of  Cleve- 
land; and  yours  truly  is  plain  Bill  Maddoc  of  the  same 
city,  lawyer  by  profession." 

"  My  friend  has  forgotten  to  mention  that  he  is  state's 
attorney  and  a  noted  bugbear  to  all  evil-doers,"  smiled 
the  doctor.  "  In  other  words  he's  known  as  Trail  Down 
Maddoc  and  —  if  he  will  permit  of  my  so  stating  —  is  far 
more  famous  in  his  own  particular  line  than  am  I  in  mine." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  cried  Maddoc,  "  what  matter  such  trifles  as 
these  at  this  time?  And  now,"  turning  to  their  host,  "  if 
yon  will  honor  us?  " 


BILLY  TO  THE  RESCUE  257 

"  My  name  is  Stanhope;  Frank  Stanhope." 

"  What?  "  The  lawyer  was  on  his  feet  and  had  his 
hands  on  Frank's  shoulders.  / 

' '  You  say  Stanhope  ?  Why,  man  alive !  I  've  been  look- 
ing high  and  low  for  you.  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Doctor,  I  're  found  him  at  last !  ' ' 

"  Young  man,"  said  Maddoe,  turning  again  to  Frank, 
"  will  you  please  answer  a  few  questions?  Did  you  ever 
know  a  queer  old  man  by  the  name  of  Seroggie?  " 

' '  Why,  yes, ' '  Frank  answered,  somewhat  puzzled.  ' '  He 
lived  next  farm  to  me." 

"And,"  Maddoe  resumed,  "  do  you  happen  to  know 
that  he  made  a  will,  leaving  all  he  possessed  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  he  said;  but  the  will  was  never  found." 

"  And  for  a  very  good  reason,  by  George,"  cried  Mad- 
doc.  "  How  eould  it  be  found  when  it  lay  safely  locked 
in  a  deposit  box  in  my  vault?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand — "  commenced 
the  amazed  Stanhope. 

"  Of  course  not,  how  could  you?  "  cried  the  lawyer. 
' '  But  there  now,  1 11  explain. 

"  One  morning  something  over  a  year  ago  a  queer  little 
man  came  to  my  office.  He  told  me  his  name,  Scroggie, 
but  refused  to  give  me  any  address.  He  said  he  wished 
to  make  his  will  and  insisted  that  I  draw  it  up.  It  was 
a  simple  will,  as  I  remember  it,  merely  stating  that  '  I 
something-or-other,  Scroggie,  hereby  bequeath  all  my 
belongings,  including  land  and  money,  te  Frank  Stan- 
hope. '  I  made  it  out  exactly  as  he  worded  it,  had  it  sealed 
and  witnessed  and  handed  it  to  him.  But  the  old  fellow 
refused  to  take  it.  I  asked  him  why,  and  he  said :  '  You 
keep  it  safe  until  I  send  for  it.  I'm  wilKn'  to  pay  for  your 
trouble. ' 


258  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  '  But  listen,  old  man,'  I  said,  '  supposing  you  should 
die  suddenly.  Life  is  very  uncertain,  you  know.  This  will 
should  be  left  where  it  can  be  easily  found,  don't  you  see?  ' 

"  '  That's  just  where  I  don't  want  it  left,'  he  says.  '  I 
want  it  kept  safe.  I'll  take  a  chance  on  dying  suddenly.' 
And  by  George!  the  old  fellow  got  up  and  shambled  out, 
leaving  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  on  the  table." 

"Then,"  said  Frank,  moistening  his  dry  lips,  "you 
have  the  will,  Mr.  Maddoc?  " 

"  I  have!  "  cried  the  delighted  lawyer,  "  and  whether  he 
left  you  much  or  little  nobody  can  dispute  your  claim. 
Young  man,  shake  hands  again!  " 

But  Stanhope  had  sunk  on  a  chair,  his  face  in  his  hands. 
Doctor  Cavinalt  went  softly  over  and  stood  beside  him. 
"  My  friend,"  he  said  gently,  "  good  news  often  bowls 
us  over,  but  perhaps  there's  even  better  news  in  store  for 
you.  Fortune  is  a  good  thing,  but  with  fortune  and  your 
eye-sight  restored " 

Frank  lifted  a  wan  face.    "  You  mean ?  "  his  dry 

lips  formed  the  words. 

The  slender  sensitive  fingers  of  the  specialist  lifted  the 
lids  of  the  unseeing  eyes.  Intently  he  examined  them, 
then  with  a  quick  smile  that  transformed  his  grave  face  to 
almost  boyish  gladness,  he  spoke. 

"  It  is  as  I  thought,  Mr.  Stanhope.  Your  sight  is  quite 
unimpaired  and  can  be  restored  to  you  by  a  simple  opera- 
tion. Your  blindness  was  caused  either  from  a  blow  or  a 
fall,  was  it  not?  " 

Frank  nodded.  "A  beam  struck  me,"  he  whispered,  "  I 
thought  — I  thought—" 

'  Tomorrow,"  said  the  doctor,  retiring  once  more  into 
his  professional  shell,  "  I  shall  remove  the  pressure  that 
obstructs  your  vision.  The  operation,  which  will  be  most 


BILLY  TO  THE  RESCUE  259 

simple,  can  be  performed  here.  We  have  but  to  remove 
all  pressure  on  the  nerve  centres  that  refuse  their  func- 
tion now  —  and  you  will  see. ' ' 

Tie  motioned  to  his  friend,  and  the  two  went  over  to  the 
window  and  talked  together  in  low  tones. 

Stanhope,  hands  clasped  together,  sat  staring  into  a  vista 
of  shadows  that  were  all  but  dissolved.  Above  them  lifted 
a  face  that  smiled  —  and  down  across  sleeping,  darkening 
waters  a  long  ray  of  light  swept  to  touch  his  unseeing  eyes 
and  whisper  her  message  of  hope. 

#        #        *        *        * 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Billy,  bending  beneath  a  load 
of  wild  ducks,  came  up  the  path  to  the  cottage.  Stanhope, 
reading  his  step,  groped  his  way  out  to  meet  him.  "  Ho, 
Billy  Boy, ' '  he  cried,  holding  out  his  hands. 

Billy  placed  his  wet,  cold  ones  in  Stanhope's.  "  I  sim- 
ply had  to  stay  an'  shoot,"  he  explained.  "  The  ducks 
were  fair  poundin'  into  the  decoys.  How  are  the  Cleve- 
land fellers?  " 

"  Good  as  ever,  Billy,  dried  out  —  and  gone.  Come  into 
the  house.  I've  got  great  news." 

Billy  turned  puzzled  eyes  on  his  friend,  reading  a  won- 
derful happiness  in  the  glowing  face.  He  dropped  his 
ducks  and  followed  Stanhope  inside.  The  table  was  set 
for  dinner  and  Billy  sniffed  hungrily. 

"  Now  teacher,"  he  said,  dropping  into  a  seat  by  the 
fire,  "  give  us  the  news." 

But  Stanhope  shook  his  head.  "  Not  yet,  Billy.  Wait 
until  you've  eaten.  You're  hungry  —  as  all  hunters  are 
bound  to  be.  There  now,"  as  his  housekeeper  brought  in 
the  meat  and  potatoes,  ' '  sit  down  and  eat  —  and  eat  fast, 
because  I  can't  keep  my  good  news  back  much  longer." 

Billy  sat  down  at  the  table  and  without  a  word  fell  to. 


260  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Stanhope  stood  beside  the  window,  humming  a  tune,  a 
smile  on  his  face.  He  roused  himself  from  his  musing,  as 
Billy  scraped  back  his  ehair.  "  Full  up  ?  "he  asked. 

"  Full  up,  teacher.    Now  let's  have  the  good  news." 

Stanhope  told  him,  his  voice  not  always  steady,  and 
Billy  eat  silent,  his  grey  eyes  growing  bigger  and  bigger. 
And  at  the  conclusion  he  did  a  very  boyish  thing.  He 
lowered  his  head  to  the  table  and  cried. 

Stanhope  groped  his  way  to  him,  placed  his  hands  gently 
on  the  heaving  shoulders,  and  there  they  remained  until 
Billy,  with  a  long  sigh,  raised  his  swimming  eyes. 

"  Teacher,"  he  said.  "  She's  gotta  be  told  about  this. 
Yon  know  how  she  always  hoped " 

"Yes." 

Billy  stood  up  and  reached  for  his  cap.  "  If  Anse 
comes  over,  you  kin  tell  him  where  I  Ve  gone.  Ill  be  back 
long  afore  dark. ' ' 

"  But,  Billy,  the  wind!    You'd  better  not  go." 

"  The  wind's  gone  down,"  said  the  boy.  "  Jest  a  fair 
sailin'  breeze  now." 

"  She'll  come,  you  think?  " 

"  She'll  come,"  said  Billy,  and  went  out,  closing  the 
door  softly  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MB.  HINTEB  MAKES  A  CONFESSION 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  next  day.  Frank  Stanhope 
lay  on  a  couch  in  a  darkened  room,  a  black  bandage  across 
his  eyes.  Erie  Landon  sat  beside  him,  holding  his  hand. 
The  pungent  odor  of  ether  hung  in  the  air.  Out  in  the 
dining  room  old  Doctor  Allworth,  from  Bridgetown,  was 
discussing  with  the  specialist  things  known  only  to  those 
men  of  science. 

Erie  was  very  happy  —  happier  than  she  had  ever 
expected  to  be  again.  Doctor  Cavinalt  had  pronounced 
the  operation  a  success ;  in  a  week  or  ten  days  the  bandage 
might  be  taken  off.  God's  world  of  light  and  beauty  was 
to  be  his  again  —  and  hers! 

Stanhope  felt  the  unconscious  tightening  of  her  fingers 
and  spoke  her  name  ever  so  softly.  She  gave  a  little,  con- 
tented sigh,  and  nestled  her  cool  cheek  against  his  own. 

"  I  was  dreaming  of  the  foot  of  the  Causeway,"  he 
whispered,  "  and  the  light." 

"And  it  reached  straight  across  through  the  blackness 
to  you  1  ' '  she  asked. 

"  Straight  to  me,  dear;  and  at  the  farther  end  of  its 
misty  radiance  I  saw  you  standing.  You  stretched  your 
dear  arms  out  to  me  and  along  the  shimmering  track,  drawn 
by  your  great  and  tender  woman 's  love,  I  sped  to  you. ' ' 

"And  found  me,  Frank?  " 

"  Found  you,"  he  echoed  joyfully.  "  Found  you  as  I 
have  prayed  through  lightless  days  I  might,  some  day,  find 
you,  blue-eyed  girl  with  heart  of  gold ;  found  you  with  your 

261 


262  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

hope,  your  loyalty,  your  tenderness  and  your  forgiveness." 

"And  now,"  she  whispered,  "  there  lie  the  days  of  sun- 
shine and  happiness  ahead  of  us,  Prank;  and  oh,  how  we 
will  enjoy  them,  you  and  I  and  Billy." 

"  Yes,  we  mustn't  forget  Billy,  God  bless  him." 

In  the  outer  room  the  learned  discussion  was  terminated 
suddenly  by  a  loud  exclamation  from  the  old  doctor. 

"  God  love  us,  it's  a  crow!  "  he  cried,  "  and  the  rascal 
has  appropriated  my  glasses!  Laid  'em  on  my  chair-arm 
for  an  instant  and  the  cheeky  beggar  swooped  in  through 
the  open  window  and  picked  'em  up." 

"  That's  Croaker,"  laughed  Erie.  "  Billy  won't  be  far 
behind  him.  I  had  better  go  out  and  explain  things, 
Frank." 

She  touched  her  warm  lips  to  his  and  went  into  the 
adjoining  room  to  find  Croaker  perched  on  a  curtain- pole, 
animatedly  congratulating  himself  on  the  new  and  won- 
derful shiny  thing  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  dis- 
cover. 

"  Croaker,"  Erie  called.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  the 
crow  stopped  trying  to  tear  the  nosepiece  from  the  lens 
and  cocked  his  head  side-wise. 

"  Kowakk,"  he  gurgled,  which  meant  "  I  thought  I 
knew  you,  Miss,  but  I  guess  I  don't." 

"  Croaker,  good  old  Croaker,  come  down  and  I'll  get  you 
a  cookie,"  Erie  begged. 

Croaker  considered  this  last  statement  a  moment.  Then 
he  carefully  raised  one  foot  and  twisted  half  way  around 
on  the  bar. 

"A  cookie,  a  nice  fat  cookie,  with  a  raisin  in  its  cen- 
tre," coaxed  the  girl. 

The  crow  lifted  the  other  foot  and  with  much  fluttering 
and  complaining  managed  to  get  all  the  way  around. 


MR.  HINTER  MAKES  A  CONFESSION        263 

Mrs.  Burke  had  brought  in  a  plate  of  cookies.  Erie  took 
one  and  held  it  up,  as  an  enticement  to  Croaker. 

"  Want  it?  "  she  asked.  "  Then  come  down  and  be  a 
good  crow." 

Then  it  was  that  Croaker,  gripping  the  glasses  in  one 
black  claw,  burst  into  a  cry  of  joyful  recognition. 

Just  at  this  juncture  the  shed  door  was  nosed  softly  open 
and  a  striped,  furry  animal  rolled  into  the  room  like  a 
ball  and,  raising  himself  on  his  hind  legs,  took  the  cookie 
from  Erie's  hand. 

' '  Ringdo,  you  old  sweetheart !  ' '  cried  the  girl  and, 
reaching  for  the  big  swamp-coon,  gathered  him  into  her 
arms. 

Doctor  Allworth,  after  one  startled  look  at  the  ferocious- 
looking  newcomer,  had  climbed  upon  the  table  and  now 
gazed  wildly  at  the  strange  sight  of  a  golden  haired  girl 
holding  to  her  bosom  a  wild  animal  which  might  be  any- 
thing from  a  wolf  to  a  grizzly,  for  aught  he  knew. 

At  the  sound  of  the  girl's  voice  the  swamp  coon  had 
dropped  the  cookie,  and  as  she  swept  him  into  her  arms 
his  slender  red  tongue  darted  forth  to  give  the  curling 
tress  above  her  ear  an  affectionate  caress.  Ringdo  recog- 
nized in  Erie  the  playmate  who  used  to  romp  with  him 
and  stray  with  him  along  spongy  moss  and  clayey  ditches. 

At  this  particular  moment  Croaker,  from  whom  atten- 
tion had  for  the  time  being  been  diverted,  came  into  evi- 
dence again.  At  first  sight  of  his  old  enemy  the  crow  had 
grown  rigid  with  anger;  his  black  neck-ruff  had  stood  up 
like  the  feathers  on  an  Indian  warrior's  head  dress  and 
into  his  beady  eyes  had  sprung  the  fighting-fire.  When 
Ringdo  got  possession  of  the  cookie  he  raised  his  short 
wings  and  prepared  to  swoop,  strike,  and  if  luck  held, 
swoop  again.  But  when  the  coon  dropped  the  cookie  that 


264  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

he  might  show  the  girl  who  had  come  back  to  the  old  play- 
ground that  he  waa  glad  Croaker  promptly  changed  his 
mind.  He  swooped,  but  on  the  precious  cookie  instead  of 
on  Ringdo,  and  with  the  prize  in  his  black  beak  and  the 
glasses  dangling  from  one  black  claw,  he  went  out  of  the 
open  window  like  a  dark  streak. 

The  old  doctor  sighed  dolefully.  "  Well,  my  glassea 
are  gone,'*  he  murmured.  "  And  how  I  will  ever  do  with- 
out 'em,  I  don't  know."  Then,  becoming  suddenly  aware 
of  his  ridiculous  position,  he  stepped  ponderously  down 
from  the  table  to  his  chair. 

Hiding  her  laughing  face  in  Ringdo's  long  fur,  Erie 
reassured  him,  "  Please,  Doctor  All  worth,  don't  be  fright- 
ened of  this  old  coon,"  she  said.  "  Indeed,  he  is  quite 
harmless." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  returned  the  old  gentleman  dryly,  "  but, 
you  see,  I  happen  to  have  heard  an  opinion  of  friend  Ring- 
do's  gentle  nature  from  a  certain  learned  pedagogue, 
whose  wounds  I  dressed  recently.  So,  my  dear  young 
lady,  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  keep  tight  hold  of  him 
for  a  moment,  111  follow  my  renowned  friend  into  the 
parlor  and  learn  how  Frank  is  coming  along."  And  suit- 
ing the  action  to  the  words  he  edged  slowly  around  the 
table  and,  backing  into  the  parlor,  closed  the  door. 

"  Ringdo,"  cried  Erie,  slapping  the  coon's  fat  sides, 
"  you  can't  possibly  see  your  friend,  Frank,  now  so  come 
along.  Well  have  a  race  down  the  path  and  a  scramble 
among  the  leaves." 

She  caught  her  hat  from  a  peg,  opened  the  door,  and 
Ringdo  gamboled  out  before  her.  Down  the  path  to  the 
gate  they  sped  and  out  into  the  tree-hedged  road.  Already 
the  frost-pinched  leaves,  crimson-veined  and  golden,  were 
being  swung  to  earth  by  a  soft  wind  that  promised  snow. 


ME.  HINTER  MAKES  A  CONFESSION        265 

With  Ringdo  galloping  clumsily  beside  her  Erie  went 
down  the  road,  trilling  a  snatch  of  a  song. 

She  did  not  realize  what  a  perfect  picture  she  presented, 
with  her  golden  hair  wind-strewn,  her  red  lips  parted,  and 
the  old  joy  singing  in  her  heart  and  kindling  a  light  in 
her  eyes.  But  the  boy  who  met  her  at  the  curve  in  the  road 
realized  it,  and  his  face  grew  wistful  as  he  asked:  "  Is  he 
all  right,  Erie?  " 

"  He  is  aH  right,  Billy,"  she  answered  softly. 

Billy's  grey  eyes  grew  big  with  realization  and  a  long 
sigh  escaped  his  lips.  He  bent  above  the  coon,  who  had 
sprawled  in  the  dust,  all  four  feet  in  the  air,  inviting  a 
tussle.  The  girl  saw  something  glitter  and  splash  on  the 
dark  fur  and  her  throat  tightened.  "  Oh  Billy,  Billy," 
she  choked,  and  with  all  the  abandon  of  her  nature  stooped 
and  gathered  boy  and  animal  close  to  her. 

A  little  later  they  went  back  up  the  road,  side  by  side. 
Ringdo  having  heard  the  call  of  the  forest-creek  had 
strayed  into  the  tangle,  perhaps  hoping  to  find  a  fat  frog 
which  had  not  yet  sought  its  winter  sleeping-bog.  They 
paused  to  watch  a  red  squirrel  flash  along  the  zig-zag  fence 
and  halt,  with  twitching  tail,  as  the  chatter  of  the  black 
he  was  pursuing  came  down  to  him  from  swaying  hickory 
tree-top.  High  overhead  a  flock  of  crows  passed  silently, 
black  hurtling  bodies  seeming  to  brush  the  grey,  low  hang- 
ing skies  as  they  melted  into  distance.  High  above,  the 
shrill  whistle  of  wings  told  of  wild  ducks  seeking  the 
marshes  and  the  celery  beds  of  the  bay. 

"  Erie,"  spoke  the  boy  as  they  turned  to  resume  their 
way,  "  Ma  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she'd  be  over  ag'in 
tonight  to  stay  with  you.  She's  had  an  awful  time  keepin' 
teacher's  friends  from  swarmin'  over  to  see  how  he  was 
gettin'  along  an'  she  says  she  simply  had  to  promise  that 


266  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

they  could  come  over  after  supper.  I  guess  the  whole 
Settlement  is  over  to  our  place.  I  better  lope  along  an* 
tell  'em  the  good  news. ' '  He  turned  away  as  they  reached 
the  gate  —  then  hesitated. 

"  Anything  I  can  tell  him,  Billy?  "  asked  Erie,  noticing 
his  reluctance. 

' '  No,  but  there 's  somethin '  I  ought  'a  tell  you,  I  guess, ' ' 
he  answered.  "  I've  jest  come  from  old  Swanson's  board- 
in'  house,  at  the  foot.  Mr.  Maddoc  an'  the  specialist 
doctor  are  goin'  to  leave  there  an'  stay  at  teacher's,  as  you 
likely  know?  " 

Erie  nodded.  "  They  told  me  all  about  it.  How  they 
are  going  to  shoot  from  your  Mud  Point,  and  how  good  it 
was  of  you  to  let  them,"  she  smiled. 

Billy  grinned.  "  Say!  "  he  murmured,  "as  if  there 
was  anythin'  any  of  us  wouldn't  do  fer  them  now.  "Well, 
Mr.  Maddoc,  who's  havin'  Joe  Scraff  drive  down  fer  their 
stuff  tonight,  was  comin'  along  up  with  me  when  we  met 
Hinter,  'bout  a  mile  back  on  the  road." 

He  paused  and  searched  the  girl's  face.  "  You  see, 
Erie,"  he  said  slowly,  "I'd  been  tellin'  Mr.  Maddoc  all 
about  how  Hinter  an'  Scroggie  had  been  tryin'  to  find 
water  fer  us,  an'  how  they  had  had  a  barrel  of  oil  explode, 
an'  every  thin'.  Somehow  he  didn't  seem  a  bit  like  a 
stranger.  I  didn't  mind  tellin'  him  at  all.  Why,  I  even 
told  him  about  the  Twin  Oaks  store  robbery,  anr  about 
Hinter  wantin'  to  get  hold  of  Lost  Man's  Swamp,  an' 
everythin'. 

"  He  was  awful  interested,  an'  asked  me  to  show  him 
the  fenced-in  well.  So  we  took  'cross  the  fields  an'  he  saw 
it.  He  went  all  around  the  walls  an'  even  climbed  up  one 
side  of  'em,  an '  looked  over.  "When  he  came  down  he  said : 
'  Jest  as  I  thought,  Billy.  That  explosion  you  spoke  of 


MR.  HINTER  MAKES  A  CONFESSION        267 

was  a  charge  of  nitro  glycerine.'  We  struck  back  fer  the 
road  an'  I  guess  he  was  thinkin'  hard,  'cause  he  didn't 
talk  any  more.  Then,  as  we  was  climbin'  the  fence  to  the 
road  he  asks:  '  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  this  man,  Hinter, 
Billy?  ' 

"  'Why,'  I  says,  'there  he  is  now.'  Hinter  had  jest 
climbed  the  opposite  fence  an'  stepped  into  the  road.  Mr. 
Maddoc  slid  down  an'  went  right  up  to  him.  Hinter 's 
face  turned  white  when  he  saw  Mr.  Maddoc.  He  couldn't 
speak  fer  a  minute,  an'  then  all  he  did  was  mumble 
somethin'. 

"  '  Billy,'  Mr.  Mnddoc  says  to  me,  '  would  you  go  on  a 
piece  an'  leave  me  alone  with  this  man.  You  see  we've 
met  before  an'  I  want  'a  ask  him  some  questions.' 

"  So  I  come  on  an'  I  guess  Mr.  Maddoc  had  a  whole  lot 
of  questions  to  ask  fer  he  ain't  come  yet." 

Erie  was  standing  against  the  gate,  her  arms  stretched 
along  its  top,  hands  clenching  its  rough  pickets. 

"  There,  he's  coming  now,  Billy,"  she  whispered,  as  the 
lawyer's  tall  form  swung  about  the  curve  in  the  road. 
"  No,  don't  go  yet;  perhaps  he  will  have  something  more 
to  teU  us." 

But  the  lawyer,  apparently,  had  nothing  to  tell  them. 
Gravely  he  lifted  his  hat  to  Erie,  threw  a  smile  of  good- 
fellowship  to  Billy  and  turned  up  the  path  to  the  cottage. 
*  *  *  *  # 

No  sooner  had  Billy  gone,  leaving  Maddoc  alone  with 
Hinter,  than  the  lawyer's  manner  underwent  a  lightning 
change.  His  big  face  lost  its  jovial  look  and  the  bushy 
eyebrows  contracted  to  sinister  juts  on  his  puckered  brow, 
as  the  cold  eyes  beneath  them  probed  the  man  before  him. 

' '  Well,  Jacobs  —  or  whatever  your  name  happens  to  be 
now  —  what  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  asked. 


268  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Hinter,  with  an  effort,  shook  off  his  first  cringing  fear. 
' '  Supposing  I  tell  you  that  it 's  none  of  your  business,  Mr. 
Maddoc, "  he  said,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  bluff.  "  I  am 
not  under  your  jurisdiction  here." 

"  Oh,  is  that  so?  Well,  my  smooth  friend,  you're  liable 
to  learn  that  my  jurisdiction  extends  further  than  you 
think.  Now  see  here,  Jacobs.  You  know  —  and  I  know  — 
that  I  have  enough  on  you  already  to  put  you  away  where 
you'll  do  little  harm  for  several  years  to  come.  Do  you 
want  me  to  do  it?  " 

"  No."  The  man's  answer  was  nothing  more  than  a 
spiritless  murmur.  Maddoc,  he  knew,  had  his  record  and 
had  spoken  truly  when  he  said  he  had  the  goods  on  him. 
"  No,"  he  repeated  with  a  shudder. 

"  Then  come  clean,  Jacobs.  Now  then,  what's  your 
game?  " 

"  I  came  here  after  you  drove  me  from  the  Pennsyl- 
vania oil  fields,"  said  the  other,  realizing  the  useleesnes* 
of  lying. 

"  Why?  " 

"  To  prospect;  to  look  for  a  new  field.  I  figured  that 
the  Pennsylvania  vein  would  come  out  about  here  and 
extend  northward." 

' '  Sounds  reasonable.    And  you  still  think  so,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  that  your  well  with  the  jail-wall  about  it,  yonder?  " 

"  No,  I  bored  it  but  it  belongs  to  Pennsylvania  Scroggie, 
the  man  whom  you  helped  defeat  the  Southern  lease  ring. ' ' 

If  Maddoc  was  surprised,  he  did  not  show  it.  "  You 
struck  oil,  I  see,  Jacobs." 

"  Yes,  about  an  eight-a-day  well." 

"Deep?" 

"  No,  surface." 


.  HINTER  MAKES  A  CONFESSION        269 

"  And  Scroggie  —  does  he  know  your  record?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Oh  for  God's  sake  stop  probing  me 
this  way.  I'm  willing  to  tell  all  there  is  to  tell." 

"  That  suite  me,  Jacobs.    Go  on." 

"  As  I  say,  I  came  here  to  prospect.  I  found  plenty  of 
surface  evidence  of  oil  and  gas  but  without  capital  I  was 
helpless.  I  learned  that  a  thousand-acre  tract  of  woods, 
rich  in  oil  indications,  was  owned  by  Pennsylvania  Scroggie. 
I  knew  that  he  was  a  hog  and  that  if  I  showed  my  hand 
too  clearly  he  would  kick  me  under  and  go  it  alone. 
Through  a  friend  who  owned  a  lake  schooner  I  made 
Scroggie  a  proposition.  I  guaranteed  to  show  him  a  virgin 
oil  territory  and  operate  his  rigs  for  a  certain  percentage 
of  the  output.  This  he  agreed  to.  Then  he  came  and  when 
he  found  that  the  vein  lay  on  his  own  land  he  was  furious 
and  tried  to  break  the  contract. 

"  I  had  anticipated  his  doing  something  like  this  and 
had  provided  against  it.  Old  man  Scroggie,  the  original 
owner  of  this  land,  had  left  a  will,  bequeathing  all  he 
owned  to  a  young  man  of  this  district,  Stanhope  by  name. 
Seroggie,  I  knew,  was  afraid  of  the  will  coming  to  light 
and  I  worked  on  this  fear.  It  was  known  throughout 
this  community  that  the  one  friend  old  Scroggie  had 
trusted  was  Spencer,  the  store-keeper,  wko,  having  quar- 
reled with  the  elder  Stanhope  orer  a  survey  of  property, 
held  a  secret  grudge  against  his  son,  Frank." 

44  And,"  said  tlie  lawyer  as  Jacobs  paused  to  wipe  his 
beaded  brow,  "  you  thought  the  will  lay  in  Spencer's  safe, 
and  that  he  was  holding  it  away  because  of  petty  malice?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  And  knowing  that  in  spite  of  his  many  short-comings 
Pennsylvania  Scroggie  wouldn't  deliberately  rob  yeung 
Stanhope  of  the  property,  providing  he  knew  for  sure  that 


270  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

his  uncle  had  made  the  young  man  his  heir,  you  made  up 
your  mind  to  blow  Spencer's  safe  and  get  hold  of  the  will 
yourself — supposing  it  was  there,  and  so  make  sure  of 
your  own  little  rake-off." 

Jacobs  gazed  at  the  lawyer  wonderingly.  "  How  did 
you  know?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  know,  Jacobs,  that  you  and  your  henchmen,  Tom 
Standish  and  Jack  Blake,  robbed  Twin  Oaks  store  and 
blew  the  safe;  also  that  you  were  disappointed.  There 
was  no  will  there.  Where  you  made  your  big  mistake,  my 
friend,  was  in  misjudging  Pennsylvania  Scroggie.  For 
instance,  when  you  lied  to  him  and  told  him  that  you  had 
found  the  will,  and  threatened  to  turn  it  over  to  the  right- 
ful heir,  providing  he  did  not  give  you  a  clear  deed  to 
Lost  Man's  Swamp  —  what  did  he  say  to  you?  " 

The  question  stung  the  other  as  a  leather  lash  stings 
quivering  flesh. 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you?  "  repeated  the  lawyer,  and 
the  wretched  man  on  the  rack  answered  hopelessly:  "  He 
told  me  that  if  I  didn't  give  the  will  up  to  Stanhope  he 
would  have  me  arrested  and  sent  to  the  pen." 

A  little  smile  curled  the  corners  of  Maddoc's  stern 
mouth.  "  Well,  that's  Pennsylvania  Scroggie,"  he  said, 
as  though  to  himself.  "  Hard,  bull-headed  and  a  sharper 
in  every  legitimate  sense  but  square  as  they  make  'em. 
And  you,"  he  asked,  pointedly,  "  what  did  you  do?  " 

"  Of  course  I  had  to  own  up  that  I  had  lied.  He  had 
me  down  on  my  knees  all  right,  but  I  was  valuable  to  him 
right  then.  We  had  started  boring  on  his  land.  He  said 
that  he  would  give  me  another  chance  but  that  I  would 
have  to  keep  honest." 

The  man  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  able  to  read 
criminals  unerringly  glanced  keenly  at  the  man's  face. 


ME.  HINTER  MAKES  A  CONFESSION        271 

"  And  you've  found  the  condition  too  difficult;  isn't 
that  so?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  Mr.  Maddoc,  as  God  is  my  witness,  I  was  keeping 
honest  and  intended  to  go  on."  Jacobs  had  drawn  his 
drooping  form  erect,  and  now  spoke  with  a  certain  dignity. 

Maddoc  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  his  square  chin 
shot  forward. 

"  Jacobs,"  he  said,  crisply,  "  I'll  give  you  twenty-four 
hours  in  which  to  lose  yourself.  You  can  *t  stay  here. ' ' 

Something  like  a  sigh  escaped  the  man  who  listened  to 
this  edict.  He  took  a  lagging  step  or  two  forward. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Tell  me,  Jacobs,  is  there 
anything  in  this  world  you  care  for  outside  of  yourself 
and  your  ambition  to  climb  to  fortune  over  the  necks  of 
others?  I'm  curious  to  know." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other,  without  hesitation.  "  There 
is  something;  there  are  dogs  and  children." 

"  Dogs  and  children,"  repeated  the  lawyer.  "  Dogs  and 
children."  He  stood  looking  away  through  the  failing 
light  to  where  a  strip  of  mauve-lined  sky  peeked  through 
the  heavy  tissue  of  cloud. 

"  And  what  do  dogs  and  children  think  of  you?  "  he 
asked,  abruptly. 

"  Both  trust  me,"  said  Jacobs  simply  and  Maddoc  knew 
that  he  spoke  the  truth.  He  strode  across  and  put  his 
hands  on  the  shoulders  of  the  man  from  whom  he  had 
wrung  confession. 

' '  Listen !  "  he  said  harshly.  ' '  You  know  me  and  you 
know  I  don't  often  give  a  man  like  you  more  than  a  sec- 
ond chance.  You  have  had  your  second  chance  and  failed. 
But  see  here,  I'm  not  infallible.  If  dogs  and  children 
trust  you  there  must  be  some  good  in  you,  and  by  George ! 
I'm  going  to  do  something  which  is  either  going  to  prove 


272  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

the  biggest  piece  of  damn  foolishness  or  the  biggest  coup 
I  have  ever  pulled  off  in  my  life.  I'm  going  to  take  my 
grip  from  your  throat,  Jacobs,  and  leave  you  to  the  dogs 
and  the  children. 

"  Now,  here's  some  news  for  you.  The  will  has  been 
found  and  Frank  Stanhope  is  heir  to  the  Scroggie  forest- 
lands.  But  if  there  is  oil  here  —  and  there  is  —  both  you 
and  Pennsylvania  Scroggie  will  be  needed.  I  have  no 
doubt  but  a  satisfactory  arrangement  on  a  share  producing 
plan  can  be  made  with  the  owner  of  the  land.  Ill  see 
Pennsylvania  Scroggie  tonight  and  hell  do  what  I  ask.  I 
pulled  him  out  of  a  rather  tight  hole  and  I  guess  he  won 't 
have  forgotten.  Come  over  to  Stanhope's  cottage  in  the 
morning.  Now  remember  what  the  children  and  dogs 
expect  of  you,  my  friend;  good-bye  until  tomorrow.*' 

He  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  other  man  took 
it  dazedly,  then  slowly  and  with  head  lifted  towards  the 
darkening  skiee,  he  passed  down  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT 

Bad  news  travels  fast  but  good  news  wings  its  way  quite 
as  speedily.  Life  teaches  the  human  heart  to  accept  the 
one  bravely  and  to  laugh  happily  with  the  other,  for  after 
all  life  is  just  a  ringing  note  that  sounds  through  and 
above  the  eternal  weaving  of  God's  shuttle  —  at  times 
clear,  reaching  to  the  highest  stars ;  at  other  times  a  minor 
wail  of  pain.  But  the  weaving  goes  on,  drab  threads 
mingling  with  the  brighter  ones;  and  so  the  heart  learns 
to  withstand,  and  better  still  to  hope.  It  may  be,  when 
the  shuttle  runs  slower  and  the  fabric  is  all  but  woven,  if 
the  weaver  is  brave  and  strong  he  is  able  to  decipher  the 
riddle  of  it  all.  ' '  If  you  would  experience  happiness,  find 
it  in  the  happiness  of  others." 

Now  the  unrest  and  uncertainty  which  had  overshadowed 
Scotia  for  months  had  been  miraculously  lifted  and  in  its 
place  was  rest  and  certainty.  Sorrow  and  pity  for  the 
man  who  had  been  stricken  with  blindness  gave  place  to 
joy  and  congratulation.  Swifter-winged  than  the  harb- 
inger of  sorrow,  which  sometimes  falters  in  its  flight  as 
though  loath  to  cause  a  jarring  note  deep  within  God's 
harmony,  flashed  the  joyful  news  that  Frank  Stanhope 
had  come  into  his  inheritance  and  would  see  again.  For 
a  week  following  the  wonderful  news  the  people  of  the 
Settlement  did  little  else  than  discuss  it  together.  Man, 
woman  and  child  they  came  to  the  vine-covered  cottage  to 
tell  Stanhope  they  were  glad. 

Pennsylvania  Seroggie  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  offer 

273 


274  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

his  congratulations.  "  Young  man,"  he  said  to  Stanhope, 
"I'm  some  rough  on  the  outside  but  I  reckon  I'm  all 
right  inside.  You've  got  your  sight  back  and  you've  got, 
in  this  fine  piece  of  land  my  old  uncle  left  you,  what 
promises  to  be  a  real  oil  field.  Hinter  and  I  are  going  to 
develop  it  for  you,  if  you've  no  objections.  And  you've 
got  a  whole  lot  more  than  that,"  glancing  at  Erie,  who 
§tood  near.  And  Stanhope,  sensing  the  sterling  worth  of 
the  man,  shook  hands  gladly. 

Lawyer  Maddoc  and  Doctor  Cavinalt  had  gone  back  to 
Cleveland,  promising  to  return  every  fall  so  long  as  their 
welcome  held  out  and  Billy  was  there  to  guide  them  about 
and  save  their  lives,  if  necessary. 

Old  Harry  O'Dule's  dream  was  about  to  be  realized, 
Stanhope  had  assured  him  that  he  would  see  to  it  that  he 
should  play  his  whistle  beneath  Ireland's  skies  before 
another  autumn  dawned. 

It  was  a  world  of  silence,  a  world  bathed  in  golden  haze, 
that  Stanhope  gazed  upon  with  the  restoration  of  his 
sight.  A  long  time  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  vista  before 
him,  with  its  naked  trees  piercing  the  mauve-line  of 
morning  mist  shimmering  above  the  yellow  wood-smoke. 
The  girl  beside  him  knew  from  the  tightening  hand  on  hers 
and  the  awe  that  paled  his  quivering  face  that  the  silence 
spoke  a  thankfulness  which  mere  words  could  never 
express.  So  she  waited,  and  after  a  long  time  he  turned 
slowly  and  holding  her  at  arm's  length,  smiled  down  into 
her  eyes. 

"  And  you,  too,"  he  whispered.  "  With  all  this,  I  have 
you,  too." 

"  You  know  that  you  have  always  had  me,  Frank,"  she 
aaid  softly. 

"  But  more  than  ever  I  want  you  now;  more  than  ever 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT  275 

I  need  you.     Erie,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  are  you  willing 
to  -marry  me  right  away  —  next  week  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh  Frank —  "  she  began,  but  he  checked  her  utter- 
ance with  his  lips. 

"  The  Reverend  Reddick  is  available  at  any  day,  any 
hour,  Lighthouse  girl;  he's  conducting  revival  services  in 
the  Valley  church.  It  will  all  be  so  simple.  Won't  you 
say  next  week!  " 

She  gazed  into  his  radiant  face  with  serious  eyes.  "  But 
Prank,"  she  whispered,  "  it  may  be  cold  and  dismal  next 
week,  I  —  I  always  thought  that  I  should  like  our  wedding 
to  be—" 

Her  head  went  down  to  hide  against  his  arm. 

"  Go  on,  Lighthouse  girl.  You  always  thought  7011 
would  like  our  wedding  to  be  —  when?  " 

"  On  a  golden,  Indian  summer  day  like  this,"  she  fin- 
ished and  closed  her  eyes  as  his  arms  went  about  her. 
*        *        *        *        * 

' '  And  ut  's  married  they  were  this  mornin ',  whilst  the 
dew  still  clung  to  the  mosses,  and  ut's  meself  was  witness 
to  the  j'inin*  av  two  av  the  tinderest  hearts  in  all  the 
wurruld. "  Old  Harry  O'Dule,  on  his  rounds  to  spread 
the  joyful  tidings  of  Frank  and  Erie's  marriage,  had  met 
Billy  leading  a  fat  bay  horse  along  a  sun-streaked  forest 
path. 

Billy  stared  at  the  old  man;  then  his  face  broke  into  « 
grin.  "  O  Gee!  "  he  sighed,  and  sinking  on  a  log,  closed 
his  eyes.  "  O  Gee!  "  he  repeated  —  leaping  to  his  feet 
and  throwing  his  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  bay  and 
yelling  into  that  animal's  twitching  ear.  "  Hear  that,  you 
Thomas?  They're  married,  Erie  an'  Teacher  Stanhope's 
married!  " 

"  Billy,  is  ut  clane  crazy  ye've  gone?  "  chided  the  old 


276  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

man,  "  that  ye'd  be  afther  deafenin'  the  poor  steed  wid 
yer  yellin'?  Listen  now,  fer  ut's  more  I'll  be  tellin'  ye." 

Billy  kicked  his  hat  high  in  air  and  turned  a  hand- 
spring. "  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Harry.  You  saw  'em 
married,  did  you?  " 

"  Faith  and  I  did,"  cried  Harry.  "  And  play  'em  a 
weddin'  march  on  me  whistle  I  did,  soft  as  a  spring  rain 
and  swate  as  the  very  joy  they  do  be  feelin'  this  day. 
A  king  he  looked,  Billy,  and  his  bride  a  quane,  ivery  inch 
av  her.  But  no  more  av  your  questions  now,"  he  broke 
off,  "  fer  step  along  I  must,  singin'  me  thankfulness  from 
me  whistle,  and  spakin'  the  good  tidings  to  them  I  mate 
along  the  way." 

Billy  watched  the  old  man  move  down  the  path,  the 
wild  strains  of  the  Irish  tune  he  was  playing  falling  on 
his  ears  long  after  the  player  had  been  swallowed  up  in* 
the  golden  haze.  Then  he  too  passed  on,  bay  Thomas 
walking  sedately  behind.  As  he  rounded  a  bend  he  met 
Maurice  Keeler  and  Jim  Scroggie,  heads  close  together  and 
speaking  animatedly. 

"Ho,  Bill!"  cried  Maurice.  "  Bringin'  bay  Thomas 
up  to  the  stable  fer  winter,  eh?  Gee!  Jim,  look  at  that 
horse;  did  you  ever  see  such  a  change  in  anythin'  in  your 
life?  " 

"  Thomas  has  sure  fattened  up,"  grinned  Jim.  "  I 
guess  it  would  puzzle  old  Johnston  to  know  our  horse  now, 
eh,  Bill?  " 

"  You  mean  your  horse,  Jim,"  corrected  Billy. 

"  No  I  don't  either;  he's  only  a  third  mine.  One  third 's* 
yours  and  the  other  third's  Maurice's." 

Maurice  and  Billy  stared  at  him.  "  It  was  your  money 
paid  fer  him,"  Billy  asserted. 

"  Well,  what  of  it?    Maurice  found  him  a  soft  hidin' 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT  277 

place  and  good  pasture  on  his  Dad's  farm,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Sure,  but  then—  " 

"  And  it's  you  who's  goin'  to  see  that  he  gets  cared  for 
all  winter,  ain't  it?  " 

"  You  bet  it  is,"  cried  Billy. 

"  Well  then,  I  claim  he's  a  company  horse  an'  you  .an' 
me  an'  Maurice  is  that  company.  Now,  that's  settled,  let 
me  tell  you  what  Maurice  and  me  was  talkin'  about  when 
you  met  us." 

Billy  unsnapped  the  tie-strap  from  Thomas'  halter  so 
that  he  might  crop  the  wayside  grass  without  hindrance 
and  sat  down  on  a  log  opposite  the  one  occupied  by  his 
friends. 

Jim  nudged  Maurice  but  Maurice  shook  his  head. 
"You  tell  him,"  he  said. 

"  Bill,"  Jim  cried  eagerly.  "  I  got  a  bit  of  news  for 
you  that  '11  make  you  want  to  stand  on  your  head  and  kick 
splinters  off  the  trees." 

Billy  grinned.  "  An'  I  got  a  piece  of  news  fer  you 
fellers,  too,"  he  returned.  "  But  go  on,  your  news  first, 
Jim." 

' '  Teacher  Stanhope  has  made  over  a  deed  of  Lost  Man 's 
Swamp  to  you,  Bill,"  said  Jim.  "  I  heard  Dad  telling- 
Mr.  Hinter  all  about  it.  Dad  was  there  when  Lawyer 
Maddoc  drew  up  the  deed  —  Maurice,  you  crazy  hyena, 
will  you  keep  quiet?  " 

Maurice  had  rolled  backward  off  the  log,  the  while  he 
emitted  cries  that  would  have  done  a  scalp-hunting  Indian 
credit.  "  Three  cheers  fer  Bill!  "  he  yelled.  "  He  dis- 
covered Lost  Man's  Swamp  oil  field.  Trigger  Finger  Tim 
ain't  got  nuthin'  on  our  Bill." 

Billy  was  standing  up  now,  his  perplexed  face  turned 
questioningly  on  his  chums. 


278  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

"  That's  right,  Bill,"  cried  Jim.  "  Yon  really  did  dis- 
cover it,  you  know.  Hinter  said  he  was  the  only  one  who 
knew  the  oil  was  there  until  you  rafted  out  to  the  ponds 
and  saw  the  oil-bubbles  breakin'  on  'em.  He  says  that  a 
fortune  likely  lies  there,  so  you  see —  " 

"  An'  Teacher  Stanhope,  he  deeded  the  swamp  to  me," 
said  Billy  dazedly.  He  got  up  from  the  log  and  squared 
his  shoulders.  "  Well,"  he  spoke,  "  that  was  mighty  good 
of  him,  but  I  ain't  wantin'  that  swamp." 

"  But  Bill,"  urged  Jim,  "  the  oil  they've  found  there'll 
make  you  rich." 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  as  rich  as  I  ever  want 'a  be 
right  now,  Jim." 

"  Look  here,  Bill,"  cried  Maurice.  "  You  don't  want 'a 
hurt  Teacher  Stanhope's  feelin's,  do  you?  " 

Billy  glanced  at  him  quickly,  a  troubled  look  in  his 
eyes.  "  N-no,"  he  said,  "  you  bet  I  don't." 

"  Then  that's  all  there  is  to  it;  you  keep  Lost  Man, 
that's  what  you  do." 

Billy  considered.  "  I  ain't  sayin'  jest  what  I'll  do,"  he 
spoke  finally.  "  I  gotta  ask  another  person's  advice  on 
this  thing.  But  if  I  do  take  it  you,  Jim,  an*"  you,  Maurice, 
are  goin'  to  be  my  partners  in  Lost  Man  same's  you  are 
in  bay  Thomas.  Here,  Maurice,  you  take  Thomas  to  our 
stable  an'  give  him  a  feed.  I  gotta  go  somewhere  else." 
And  leaving  Jim  and  Maurice  sitting,  open-mouthed,  Billy 
ducked  into  the  timber. 

Not  until  he  had  put  some  distance  between  himself  and 
his  friends  did  he  remember  that  he  had  not  told  them  the 
great  and  wonderful  news  that  had  been  imparted  to  him 
by  old  Harry.  Well,  never  mind,  they  would  hear  it  soon. 
Harry  would  see  to  that.  Ho  turned  into  8  path  that 
strayed  far  up  among  clumps  of  red-gold  maples  and  ochre- 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT  279 

stained  oaks.  The  whistle  of  quail  sounded  from  a  ridge 
of  brown  sumachs.  Up  the  hill,  across  the  deep  valley, 
where  wintergreen  berries  gleamed  like  drops  of  blood 
among  the  mosses,  he  passed  slowly  and  on  to  the  beech- 
crowned  ridge. 

Here  he  paused  and  his  searching  eyes  sought  the  lower 
sweep  of  woodland.  A  clump  of  tall  poplars  gleamed 
silvery-white  against  the  dark  green  of  the  beeches;  far 
down  at  the  end  of  the  sweep  the  yellow  tops  of  hardy 
willows  stood  silhouetted  against  the  undying  green  of 
massed  cedars  and  pines.  Billy  gazed  down  upon  it  all 
and  his  heart  swelled  with  the  deep  joy  of  life,  his  nerves 
tingled  to  the  tang  of  the  woodland  scents.  Something 
deep,  stirring,  mysterious,  had  come  to  him.  He  did  not 
know  what  that  something  was  —  it  was  too  vague  and 
incomprehensible  for  definition  just  yet. 

His  arm  about  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  he  laughed  softly, 
as  his  eyes,  sweeping  the  checker-board  of  autumn's 
glories,  rested  at  last  on  the  grove  of  coniferous  trees. 
So  that  was  the  haunted  grove?  That  dark,  silent,  spicy 
bit  of  isolated  loneliness  far  below  was  the  spot  he  had  BO 
feared!  But  he  feared  it  no  longer.  Slie  had  cured  him 
of  that.  She.  had  said  that  fear  of  the  supernatural  was 
foolish;  and  of  course  she  was  right. 

A  fat  red-squirrel  frisked  down  a  tree  close  beside  him 
and  halted,  pop-eyed,  to  gaze  upon  him.  "  I  tell  you," 
Billy  addressed  it  gravely,  "  it  takes  a  good  woman  to 
steady  a  man."  The  statement  was  not  of  his  own  crea- 
tion. He  had  heard  it  somewhere  but  he  had  never  under- 
stood its  meaning  before.  It  seemed  the  fitting  thing  to 
say  now  and  there  was  nobody  to  say  it  to  except  the 
squirrel. 

A  blue- jay  and  a  yellow-hammer  flashed  by  him,  side  by 


280  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

side,  racing  for  the  gmbbing-fields  of  the  soft  woods 
below,  their  blue  and  yellow  bodies  marking  twin  streaks 
against  the  hazy  light.  Blue  and  yellow,  truly  the  most 
wonderful  colors  of  all  the  colorful  world,  thought  Billy. 
The  scene  faded  and  in  its  place  grew  up  a  face  with 
blue,  laughing  eyes  and  red,  smiling  lips,  above  which 
gleamed  a  halo  of  spun  gold.  Then  the  woodland  picture 
swam  back  before  him  and  the  squirrel,  which  with  the 
characteristic  patience  of  its  kind  had  waited  to  watch  this 
boy  who  often  threw  it  a  nut-kernel,  called  after  him 
chidingly  as  he  dipped  down  into  the  valley.  \ 

Billy  was  still  thinking  of  the  only  girl  when  he  topped 
the  farther  ridge  and  descended  into  the  valley  where 
stood  the  haunted  grove.  He  wondered  what  she  would 
say  when  he  told  her  the  great  news  he  had  to  tell  her.  He 
thought  he  knew.  She  would  put  her  hand  on  his  arm 
and  say:  "  Billy,  I'm  glad."  Well,  he  was  on  his  way  to 
hear  her  say  it.  As  he  entered  a  clump  of  cedars  he  saw 
her.  She  wore  a  cloak  of  crimson;  her  hat  had  slipped  to 
her  shoulders  and  her  hair  glowed  softly  through  the 
shadowy  half  lights.  She  stood  beside  old  man  Scroggie's 
grave,  a  great  bunch  of  golden-rod  in  her  arms. 

Billy  called  and  she  turned  to  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  came,  Billy,"  she  said.  "  You 
can  help  me  decorate  uncle's  grave." 

She  dropped  the  yellow  blossoms  on  the  mound  and  they 
went  out  into  the  sunshine  together  and  gathered  more. 
When  they  had  finished  the  task  they  went  across  to  the 
weedy  plot  in  which  stood  the  tumble-down  hut.  There, 
seated  side  by  side  beneath  a  gnarled  wild-apple  tree,  Billy 
told  her  all  he  had  to  tell  her,  and  heard  her  say,  just  as 
he  knew  she  would  say,  "  Billy,  I'm  glad." 

Then  between  them  fell  silence,  filled  with  understand- 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT  281 

ing  and  contentment  and  thoughts  that  ran  parallel  the 
same  long  track  through  future  promise.  Billy  spoke,  at 
length :  '  *  He 's  goin '  to  take  the  school  ag  'in.  An '  him 
an'  me  are  goin'  to  build  that  sail-boat  we've  always  wanted 
—  a  big  broad-beamed,  single  sticker  that'll  carry  all  of 
us  —  you,  me,  teacher,  Erie  an'  anybody  wants  to  come 
along.  Gee!  ain't  it  great?  " 

The  girl  nodded.  ' '  And  what  will  you  name  her  ?  ' '  she 
asked.  Into  Billy's  cheeks  the  blood  sprang  as  into  his 
heart  joy  ran  riot. 

"  I  aim  to  call  her  Lou,"  he  said  hesitatingly.  "  That 
is  if  you  don't  mind." 

The  golden  head  was  bowed  and  when  it  was  raised  to 
him,  he  saw  a  deeper  color  in  the  cheeks,  a  softer  glow  in 
the  eyes.  "  Come,"  she  said  softly,  "  we  must  be  getting 
back." 

They  crossed  the  sunflecked  grass,  hand  in  hand.  As 
they  reached  the  pine  grove  the  girl  pointed  away  above 
the  trees.  "  Look,"  she  whispered. 

Billy 's  gaze  followed  hers.  High  above  the  trees  a  black 
speck  came  speeding  toward  them,  a  speck  which  grew 
quickly  into  a  bird,  a  big,  black  bird,  who  knew,  apparently, 
just  where  he  was  going. 

"It's  Croaker,"  Billy  whispered.  "  Stand  right  still, 
Lou,  an'  we'll  watch  an'  find  out  what  his  game  is." 

He  drew  her  a  little  further  among  the  pines  and  they 
peered  out  to  see  Croaker  alight  on  the  broken-backed  ridge 
pole  of  the  log  hut. 

Here,  with  many  low  croaks,  he  proceeded  to  search  his 
surroundings  with  quick,  suspicious  eyes,  straining  for- 
ward to  peer  closely  at  scrub  or  bush,  then  cunningly 
twisting  about  suddenly  as  though  hoping  to  take  some 
skulking  watcher  behind  him  unawares. 


282  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

Finally  he  seemed  satisfied  that  he  was  alone.  His  harsh 
notes  became  soft  guttural  cooes.  He  nodded  his  big  head 
up  and  down  in  grave  satisfaction,  tip-toeing  from  one  end 
of  the  ridge-pole  to  the  other  and  chuckling  softly  to  him- 
self. Then  suddenly,  he  vanished  from  sight. 

"  Where  has  he  gone?  "  whispered  Lou. 

"  Hush,"  warned  Billy.    His  heart  was  pounding. 

The  watchers  stood  with  eyes  glued  to  the  ridge-pole. 
By  and  by  they  saw  a  black  tail-feather  obtrude  itself  from 
a  hole  just  beneath  the  roof's  gable.  A  black  body  fol- 
lowed and  Croaker  came  tiptoeing  back  along  the  ridge. 

The  girl  felt  her  companion's  hand  tighten  spasmodic- 
ally on  hers.  She  glanced  up  to  find  him  staring,  wide- 
eyed  at  the  bird. 

"Billy!"  she  whispered,  almost  forgetting  caution  in 
her  anxiety.  "  What  is  it?  " 

He  pointed  a  shaking  finger  at  Croaker.  "  See  that 
shiny  thing  that  old  rogue  has  in  his  bill,  Lou  ?  "  he  asked. 
**  What  do  you  'spose  that  is?  " 

"Why,  what  is  it?  " 

"  It's  one  of  the  gold  pieces  your  uncle  hid  away.  Come 
on,  now  well  see  that  Croaker  throw  a  fit." 

They  stepped  out  into  plain  view  of  the  crow,  who  was 
muttering  to  the  gold-piece  which  he  now  held  before  his 
eyes  in  one  black  claw.  Croaker  lowered  his  head  and 
twisted  it  from  side  to  side  in  sheer  wonder.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  eyes.  Then  as  Billy  stepped  forward 
and  called  him  by  name  his  black  neck-ruff  arose  in  anger 
and,  dropping  his  prized  bit  of  gold,  he  poured  out  such  a 
torrent  of  abuse  upon  the  boy  and  girl  that  Lou  put  her 
fingers  in  her  ears  to  stop  the  sound. 

"  He's  awful  mad,"  grinned  Billy.  "He's  been  keepin* 
this  find  to  himself  fer  a  long  time."  At  sound  of  his 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  GIFT  283 

master's  voice  Croaker  paused  in  his  harangue  and 
promptly  changed  his  tactics.  He  swooped  down  to  Billy's 
shoulder  and  rubbed  the  top  of  his  glossy  head  against  the 
boy's  cheek,  whispering  low  and  lying  terms  of  endearment. 

Lou  laughed.     "  What's  he  up  to  now,  Billy?  " 

"  He's  tryin'  to  coax  me  away  from  his  treasure,"  Billy 
answered.  "  Now,  jest  watch  him." 

"  What  you  want  'a  do,  Croaker?  "  he  asked,  stroking 
the  bird's  neck  feathers  smooth. 

"  Kawak!  "  said  Croaker,  and  jumping  to  the  ground 
he  started  away,  head  twisted  backward  toward  the  boy  and 
girl,  coaxing  sounds  pouring  from  his  half  open  beak. 

"  No,  sir, "  cried  Billy.  "  You  don't  fool  me  ag 'in.  I'm 
goin'  to  climb  up  there  an*  see  jest  how  much  gold  is  hid 
in  that  hole  under  the  gable." 

Croaker  watched  him  reach  for  a  chink  in  the  logs  and 
raise  himself  toward  the  treasure  house.  Then  he  became 
silent  and  sat  huddled  up,  wings  drooping  discontentedly, 
his  whole  aspect  one  of  utter  despair. 

Lou,  bending  to  caress  him,  heard  Billy  give  an  exclama- 
tion, and  ran  forward.  "  It's  here,  Lou,"  he  cried  excit- 
edly, "  a  tin  box  an'  a  shot-bag  full  of  gold  in  a  hollered- 
out  log.  The  bag  has  been  ripped  open  by  Croaker.  I'll 
have  to  go  inside  to  get  the  box  out." 

He  dropped  to  the  sward  and  stepped  through  an 
unglazed  window  into  the  hut.  Nailed  to  one  end  was  a 
crude  ladder.  Billy  climbed  the  ladder  and  peered  closely 
at  the  log  which  held  the  money.  To  all  appearances  it 
was  exactly  like  its  fellows,  no  door,  no  latch  to  be  seen. 
And  still,  he  reasoned,  there  must  be  an  opening  of  some 
kind  there.  He  lit  a  match  and  held  it  close  to  the  log. 
Then  he  whistled.  What  he  had  mistaken  for  a  pine  knot 
was  a  small  button  fixed,  as  he  saw  now,  in  a  tiny  groove. 


284  A  SON  OF  COURAGE 

He  moved  the  button  and  a  small  section  of  the  log  fell, 
spraying  him  with  musty  dust. 

Another  moment  and  he  was  outside  beside  Lou,  bag 
and  box  in  his  arms.  Croaker  was  nowhere  to  be  seen; 
neither  was  the  gold  piece  which  he  had  dropped  in  his 
amazement  at  sight  of  Billy  and  Lou. 

"  He  went  back  and  got  it,"  said  the  girl,  in  answer 
to  Billy's  look  of  amazement.  "And,  Billy,  he  flew  away 
in  an  awful  grouch." 

"  Oh,  he'll  soon  get  over  it,"  laughed  Billy.  "  We'll 
find  him  waitin'  fer  us  farther  on." 

.They  crossed  the  lot  and  went  through  the  pines  to  the 
sunny  open.  There,  on  a  mossy  knoll,  Lou  spread  her  cloak, 
and  Billy  poured  the  gold  from  bag  and  box  upon  it. 

Lou  started  to  count  the  money.  Billy  sat  back,  watch- 
ing her.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  mused,  "it  certainly  takes  a 
good  woman  to  steady  a  man."  For  ten  glorious  minutes 
he  built  air  castles  and  dreamed  dreams. 

"  Two  thousand  nine  hundred  and  forty  dollars,"  Lou 
announced,  and  Billy  jumped  up. 

"  Whew!  "  he  whistled,  "an'  all  gold,  too.  The  three 
pieces  that  Croaker  took  make  the  even  three  thousand. ' ' 

They  placed  the  money  back  in  the  box  and  bag.  Then 
Billy,  picking  up  the  treasure,  spoke  gently. 

"  It'll  make  'em  a  grand  weddin'  gift,  Lou." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  a  grand  wedding  gift,  Billy." 

In  silence  they  passed  on  through  the  upland  gowned 
in  hazy,  golden  spray.  At  the  height  of  land  they  paused 
to  look  down  across  the  sweeping  country  below  them. 
Then  blue  eyes  sought  grey  and  hand  in  hand,  with  a  new 
glad  vista  of  life  opening  before  them,  they  went  on  into 
the  valley. 

THE  END. 


A     000  045  697    o 


